


On Fire, But We Can't Feel A Thing

by arizayna



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Amnesia, Death Eaters, Friends to Lovers, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Marauders Friendship, Marauders' Era, Memory Charms, Post-Hogwarts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2018-08-11 09:50:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7886410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arizayna/pseuds/arizayna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Sirius feels oddly faint, feels like his whole body has turned into vapour and he could just be blown away into nothingness at any moment. Nothing about this has felt real, not when Remus’ head popped into his fireplace after a whole year and not now that he’s telling him that James, his James, won’t remember who he is.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

It starts in a daze.

Sirius is in his apartment and it’s nearly three in the morning, and he might be a little bit drunk – he can’t remember now, and he doesn’t want to. His knuckles are split, bleeding from the blinded punches he’s been throwing at walls. The bedroom he’s in is half-shrouded in darkness; the other half dimly bathed in dirty, musty yellow light from a lamp. It’s raining outside, and it feels like he’s been lying here for hours, nursing some imaginary wound in his chest where a knife has torn through the skin.

It’s pathetic. He _knows_ that. He knows that better than anyone because it’s been too long and time is supposed to fucking heal, isn’t it? But it hasn’t. Not now, not yet.

And all the bloody nightmares considered, Sirius wants to think he had been doing fine. Or as fine as he could be, as fine as he has managed to be over the past eighteen months. Occasionally smiling, occasionally getting it right. Being _okay_ hasn’t been easy for him recently but he tries, he really does.

So when Remus’ head pops into his fireplace for the first time in a year without warning, Sirius is more than a little bit shocked.

It starts with a violent, crackling hiss, the dying red embers that were in the fireplace suddenly flourishing into bright, emerald green flames. By the time Sirius has recovered from this unexpected occurrence, Remus’ grave, solemn face has appeared in his hearth.

He starts talking immediately, not wasting time to say things like _hello_ or _how are you_ or _I’m sorry for not calling in for a whole year._  

What he does deliver, though, are heavy words doused in a kind of swollen, barely contained panic, words that sting and settle inside Sirius’ lungs uncomfortably like poison. Sirius listens, still too stunned to respond, to the first three words at least. And then his mind goes numb, all the open-ended questions he’d been meaning to ask flattening out pitifully against his throat.

“He’s been hurt.” 

Remus’ voice sounds like the squeal of shattered glass – high-pitched and embedding deep into Sirius’ brain, skittering into every corner and amplifying the whispers that he’s managed to ignore for a long time. Three words, with barely any context, but Sirius feels something clawing dark and hungry inside his stomach almost immediately when he hears them.

He’s been hurt.

He’s been hurt.

James has been hurt.

Sirius wants to keep listening, wants to find out more, but the first three words are enough, something loud has started ringing in his ears and Remus’ voice sounds too far away. He doesn’t speak, just swallows thickly and feels it wash down his mouth, leaving a bitter aftertaste behind.

_What happened? Where is he? How bad is it?_

The questions are all there, flashing like neon red warning signs around his head, but they crumple and die down before he has the chance to ask them out loud. Part of him doesn’t even want to know. Part of him already understands that this is bad, very bad, if _Remus_ is calling, because – Merlin, how long has it been? A whole fucking year since they’ve spoken, though it feels like much more now.

He knows that somewhere inside his frozen chest, his heart is crying like a wounded animal, thudding against his ribs erratically. Remus is still talking, but Sirius doesn’t hear him and all his stupid brain can think is, _he’s been hurt, he’s been hurt, he’s been hurt;_ one repeated, muffled litany blaring over and over in his head.

He can hear those words piling around the room, sees them bumping against the dusty, unkempt furniture and the empty bottle of Muggle pills that he’d swallowed when he first found himself alone. All of a sudden Remus’ voice disappears completely and Sirius is remembering a single pair of eyes, bright and brown as soft earth; eyes that burned for him in the middle of the night, when they’d both been high and so _fucking_ in love that it hurt to breathe.

And now –

He’s hurt. Hurt, hurt, hurt. James has been hurt.

Remus’ voice finally comes back into focus, jumping out of the fireplace in a tumble of unfinished phrases with bits and pieces of information that go down into Sirius with visceral pangs and leave marks in his memory like scars; _St Mungos’_ , he says, _fourth floor, but come quick – he’s been hurt._  

Rain splatters against the closed windowpane, mercilessly cold with a thrumming that pounds loudly inside his head. Sirius watches numbly as the emerald flames die away and Remus’ head disappears, wonders vaguely if he’s dreamed the whole thing. He stares down at the dark wooden table he’s sitting on (marred with violent claw marks from when he’d dissolved into fits of rage), and tries briefly to remember how well he’d been doing, running in circles and falling into this stupid routine, going nowhere. It takes a moment or two to come to terms with what has just happened. 

_James._

The name feels like a sudden punch to the throat, an unforgiving fist closed tight with black regret and untold apologies.

Sirius’ head is already spinning and his eyes are wet with the tears that he’s trying to ignore, knuckles still aching painfully. The myriad of memories flashing in his head are too quick and too desperate, one after the other after the other, and suddenly Sirius is thinking about being seventeen and loving so hard that it made him sick; and the number of emergency rooms it took for him to stop the pain; and how it still, _still_ hurts, after all this bloody time, like an open wound that’s been left to fester in his chest. 

Despite the room being dim and quiet, everything here feels too bright, too blurred, too heavy and fast and loud. Sirius’ head is throbbing again and as hard as he’s trying to think past it – there’s only one thing for him to do now and he knows that. There’s no question of it, no arguing with himself that this isn’t necessary, that he doesn’t have to do it. The hospital is fifteen minutes away (twenty because the tequila is burning inside him now, no longer pleasant or relieving), and Remus said to come quick, because –

_James has been hurt._

It only takes a minute to make up his mind. In a series of sudden, harsh movements he finds himself standing in front of the door, pulling a cloak on and stepping out into the biting cold with only one thing on his mind.

\--

The scent of disinfectants assaults his nose almost immediately as he enters the hospital, sharp and sickening. Sirius has been here before, and the onslaught of half-faded memories dimmed behind the old bottle of pills seems to be shaking up inside his chest again, but he holds them down firmly. This _isn’t_ about the time he found himself waking up in the hospital, again and again and again for a year. This is about James.

(Well, it’s always been about James, he thinks, but not like this.)

When he steps into the waiting room, he sees – he sees Remus there, Remus Lupin, whom he hasn’t seen in more than a year. _Remus,_ in his brown jumper that he’d worn two Christmases ago, except that now it’s frayed at the edges and Remus isn’t smiling like Sirius remembers he did.

It take a few moments to respond, but then Remus immediately comes forward to close his arms around Sirius’ body, and all the words he’s planned to say go out like an extinguished flame inside him.

“Oh my God, look at you,” Remus is murmuring, and his voice sounds choked, but it’s warm, soft against the edge of Sirius’ ear. “Merlin, _look_ at you, Padfoot. You’re so different now; you’ve grown so much taller, and your hair – ” 

It’s hard to speak, and suddenly Sirius is trying not to cry again, trying to breathe through his nose without throwing up from the wild upsurge of memories; how, during the best years of his life, he’d had _everything_ he wanted and the next second it had all gone to shit.

“It’s okay,” Remus says, his arms tightening a tiny bit, and for a quiet moment Sirius feels like they’re underwater, the chaos and havoc of everything else going still for the shortest while. “I missed you.”

And then Remus lets go and Sirius has to wipe at his eyes, struggling to swallow everything down. “How is he?”

Remus’ eyes are soft, red-rimmed and shadowed slightly with the lack of sleep. He pushes the hair off his forehead, pale skin flushed underneath. “He’s inside. Woke up a while before you came. He’s had – all sorts of procedures done to him, but the Healers think he’ll live.”

“How bad was it?”

“Punctured lung and broken all his ribs, the Healers have given him some potions for the pain,” Remus’ voice sounds too mild for the heavy words it’s carrying. “He’s – it was an attack, Pads, they came for him and Lily and –“

Sirius feels the air inside his chest growing icy cold. “What _happened_?”

“We don’t know,” Remus shuts his eyes, and that’s when it hits Sirius that there’s something he isn’t telling him. “It was bad, the Muggle witnesses made it sound like they were being tortured on the streets, and –“ 

“Death Eaters?” Sirius whispers, and Remus nods with a pained expression on his face. “But they’ll – they’ll be alright, won’t they? The Healers –“

“They’re doing everything they can,” Remus says. “But you didn’t see him when they’d brought him in – I don’t even know how long he’d been under the Cruciatus Curse for. We think he’s going to make it, though, they were at it for hours, running up and down the hospital to get potions and antidotes and treatments for him.”

“Remus,” Sirius’ voice is numb, the words crawling out into the light like they’re afraid to be heard as a sudden, horrible realization hits him. “Remus, why did you call me? He said – you _know_ what he said –“ 

“He said that he never wanted to see you again,” Remus sounds quiet, but in his head Sirius hears echoes of James shouting again from that one night; angry words that were electric red, spat out in an eruption of rage. “I know.” 

“So _why_?”

Remus lets out a breath, and Sirius doesn’t remember ever seeing him look so sad, so tired. “You loved him, Sirius. You loved him and everyone in the world knew it.” 

Sirius’ fingernails are digging into his own palm, the sharp pain distracting him momentarily from the sudden nausea that’s swept up his throat. 

“And – and I know a lot of things have changed since then. I know this is a stupid, ridiculously long shot, but I need to know, Pads, for his sake and for _yours_ – do you love him? Still?”

The question seems to slam into him like a train, flattening out his bones and leaving crushed rubble in its place. _Broken_ , he thinks for a short second, _everything’s broken._ “I don’t know,” he says placidly. “Why does it matter?”

“Because,” Remus pauses to breathe out. “Because he needs you right now. He needs someone to love him the way you did.”

“He said he never wanted to see me again, Remus.”

“But –“

“A year and a _half_ ,” Sirius interrupts, words jumping out savagely. “I tried everything, Moony, I’ve been fucking ripping myself apart for all these months and he’s never even fucking _called_ – he needs _me_? Where was he when I needed him? Not one owl, not one visit! But, no, of course not, he couldn’t bring himself to give one fuck about his best friend because he had _Lily_ , and –" 

“Sirius,” Remus’ face is pale, ghostly under the fluorescent light. “Lily’s gone.”

The rest of the seething sentences that Sirius is on the verge of shouting stop suddenly in his throat, confused. “What? Gone where?”

Remus is looking at him with a strange, broken expression. “The Death Eaters, they – they killed her, Sirius. She’s dead.”

The words take a painful few seconds to sink in, entering his head like a cauldron leak. Sirius feels them dissolve slowly in through his brain. 

“Dead?” he repeats quietly, unnerved by how faraway the concept feels to him. He feels like he’s been plunged into a lake of icy water – suddenly everything seems to have been slowed down and blurred out into a distant, faded haze. _But Lily can’t be dead_ , he thinks, _Lily was so clever and brave and_ – Sirius has never allowed himself to adore her, because she was always the dark space between him and James; she was the reason that he lost his best friend, but – _dead_? She can’t be dead, she’d sent Sirius owls with long, concerned letters behind James’ back to make sure he was okay, she’d given him flowers at the hospital, even came to visit him in the dead of night while James was asleep and _apologized_ for him. It’s with a hollow pang that Sirius suddenly wishes he hadn’t shouted at her that night, hadn’t told her to leave him the fuck alone, to go back to her precious James and - 

“Sirius?” Remus says softly, gazing at him with a combination of pain and weariness. “D’you see now, why I called? James needs you. He has nobody else anymore.”

“He won’t want to see me,” Sirius closes his eyes and swallows. There’s a thick, painful mound in his throat as memories of his last, horrible encounter with James flare up again. “He hasn’t wanted to see me for a long time now, Moony.”

“That’s not true,” Remus’ eyes are soft and sad as starlight. “You know it isn’t.” 

“Yeah?” Sirius feels like he’s breathing a lot faster, but the air inside his lungs is heavy and choked up with a kind of angry, snarling pain that he doesn’t want to think about. “He’s done a good job convincing me otherwise, hasn’t he? So what if he has no one else now? I had _nothing_ when he left me, and he didn’t care that _I_ was alone!”

Remus tugs on the sleeves of his brown jumper. He’s flickering like candlelight, like he’s in a sketch, all soft around the edges and shaded in with shadows. After a long, deadened silence he says, “You were only alone because you shut everyone else out, Padfoot.” 

“ _Shut everyone out?”_ Sirius shouts back suddenly, his voice catching fire. “I was trying to kill myself every chance I got, Remus, I was fucking tearing myself _apart_ , and –“ 

“And you were so caught up in your own pain that you made it impossible for any of us to reach out to you,” Remus looks down sadly, blinking. “Nobody blames you, Pads, we all knew about – about the way you felt about him, we knew how losing him must’ve have destroyed you. But you can’t for one moment say that we didn’t _try_ to be there for you. You just wouldn’t let us in.”

A prick of guilt fills Sirius’ stomach, spreading dark and grey like cigarette smoke. Remus isn’t _wrong_. Sirius vaguely remembers throwing blind curses on anyone who tried to show up at his apartment after that night, remembers smashing every gift they brought him in the hospital, remembers even punching Remus on his stupid concerned face one evening when he refused to leave. 

“You don’t know,” he turns to Remus, biting his words out through gritted teeth, “how _long_ it took for me to move past that, how many times I tried to end it – who’s to say the second I go into that ward he isn’t going to look at me and tell me to get out? Who’s to say how fucking long _that_ will take to get over –“

“He won’t,” Remus says, and there’s something miserable and empty in the way he says it. “I know he won’t.”

“And how would you know that?”

“Sirius, after the Death Eaters – after they killed Lily,” Remus is grimacing, face looking more drawn and sallow. “They tried to erase their faces from James’ memory so he wouldn’t go hunting them down – but something went wrong, they didn’t do it properly, maybe they were in a hurry to leave so they wouldn’t get caught, and –“

“And what?” Sirius is staring at him, ignoring the fact that he feels like he can’t breathe, like all the air in the room has vanished and there’s nothing but a horrible, dull ache in his chest.

Remus hesitates, then says, “he can’t remember anything, Pads. Nothing about Hogwarts, nothing about Lily, nothing about us.”

The entire room crumbles away, until it’s just Sirius and Remus standing in the middle of a black abyss, looking at each other under a single tile of fluorescent light. Sirius’ heart is beating wildly against his throat, threatening to crawl out on all fours and run as far away as it possibly can from here.

“What,” he’s saying, not knowing how exactly his own lips are moving, “what – is he – how can he not –“

“He’s still James,” Remus’ eyelids flicker shut, like curtains, for a brief moment. “Still talks and acts like himself, but I went into that ward and he didn’t even know who I was.”

Sirius feels oddly faint, feels like his whole body has turned into vapour and he could just be blown away into nothingness at any moment. Nothing about this has felt _real_ , not when Remus’ head popped into his fireplace and not now that he’s telling him that James, _his_ James, won’t remember who he is. 

“This is why he needs us,” Remus whispers, the words coming out as a soft rush of air. “We can’t leave him like that, Pads. _You_ wouldn’t leave him like that, not after everything.” 

“Remus, I –“

“You loved him, didn’t you?” Remus says, very quietly. “You still do?”

Sirius wants to break something and scream and tear himself to shreds, and even if takes every remaining morsel of strength in his body to admit it, even if he’s spent the last eighteen months force-feeding the opposite to himself, choking down on the lies every fucking day until he could look into the mirror and spit it out without crying – he knows, inside the deepest gallows of his heart, that he’s in love with James in a way that no amount of time spent trying to scrub it out will change.

“Okay,” Sirius says finally, trying to sound calm, but his voice is trembling like shutter blinds caught in a hurricane. “Okay. I want to see him.” 

Remus gives him a small, grateful smile, and then starts hurrying towards one of the wards, gesturing for Sirius to follow. It only takes a few short steps to get there, but Sirius is so anxious that the walk seems to last forever. A million and one words are threatening to spill out of him, things like _what will he say when he sees me_ and _I wonder what he looks like now_ and _this is not real this is not real this can’t be real._

It’s almost too soon when Remus is pushing the door open and Sirius hears the click of the handle, and he almost wants to stop and throw up because he’s _not fucking ready for this_ but Remus goes in and Sirius follows him and then they’re inside the ward and –

And the boy sitting on the bed is the most beautiful thing that Sirius has seen in a year and a half, with his glasses and his untameable black hair and the wide, brown eyes that Sirius has dreamed about every night.

And then everything from the past eighteen months suddenly come crashing back down onto him, the numbness of shock evaporating rapidly to give way to a fresh outbreak of raw pain that spreads in waves around his whole body. Every broken bottle, every time he screamed himself hoarse trying to get James to _listen_ to him, every desperate measure that left him feeling like he’d lost his mind, every sleepless night and the horrible, dark sadness that infected everything he touched, growing to fester and smother and suffocate him until he couldn’t breathe anymore. And he’s ready to shout now, ready to grab James and shake him and yell _how fucking dare you, how could you do that to me, I was your best friend in the whole world and I loved you more than I could even understand –_

But then the boy is smiling at him with soft warmth and inviting lightness, crinkles around his beautiful eyes, and all horror and the pain vapourizes almost instantly, leaving the air in Sirius’ lungs feeling fresh and new.

“Hi,” the boy says brightly, using one hand to push back the dark hair that’s falling onto his face and holding the other one out towards Sirius happily. “I’m James. Have we met?”

\-- 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He’s no longer protected by space or distance; it must be damn near impossible that James can’t hear the deafening, frantic drumming of his heart._

There’s a long, drawn-out silence that follows. Sirius feels like his entire body has been vulcanized, feels like he can barely move or talk or breathe while he’s here standing in the same room as James Potter.

The first thing he notices is that James looks older, looks different. There are traces of him in his appearance that Sirius does not recognize; the slight day-old shadows of stubble, the way the underlying bone structure on his face appears a bit more pronounced now, even his hair seems to have grown messier. The second thing he notices is that James is still as fucking gorgeous as he always has been; so much so that it almost hurts to look directly at him.

James raises his eyebrows, then turns to give Remus an uncertain look. “Not very talkative, is he?”

Sirius opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He still can’t believe it, can’t believe he’s here in front of James, can’t believe James is _smiling_ at him. Sirius has long since stopped hoping that James would ever look at him like that again, without the molten anger afire inside his eyes – much less try to start an actual civil conversation that doesn’t involve them snarling and attacking at each other like a pair of rabid animals.

James’ gaze is back on Sirius again, and it feels white-hot against his skin. “You know, this whole memory-loss thing would be so much easier to deal with if there was only _one_ person at a time looking so fucking confused in this room. And I, being the one who can’t actually remember anything, believe I’m quite deserving of that privilege.”

Remus laughs beside him. Sirius knows he must be coming across as a complete idiot by uselessly standing there and staring, but he really doesn’t feel capable of much else right now. Fuck. He can barely drag his attention away from just the way James _looks_ , a bit disheveled but otherwise faultless, long enough to form any coherent thoughts on his own.

“Come on now, you must have a _name_ ,” James says, sounding a bit irritated, and Sirius almost wants to laugh – James, who he was so close to and knew so thoroughly, with whom Sirius had once been so contiguous to the point where he never even knew where he ended and James began, is asking for his name.

It’s this unusual, startling realization that somehow galvanizes him into speech. “I’m Sirius. Hi.”

He wants to say _you should know that, you should know me anywhere_ , but the words remain sitting stubbornly on his tongue and don’t come out _._

“Oh,” James appears to think for a second, then he smiles. “Sirius. I like that.”

Sirius’ whole head is filled with mist. It sounds so strange hearing James say his name again. Somehow, whenever he hears the it coated in James’ voice, he forgets how much he hates it, makes him think it isn’t really as stupid as he always claims. “It’s not bad, is it?” he says, feeling the warmth kindle his face. “Better than fucking _Remus_.”

James laughs. It’s a short laugh, but the sound seems to fill Sirius’ whole chest and push outwards against his ribs, glowing like warm light.

“Fuck, Prongs,” the words slip out of him quietly, without him even thinking, “I’ve missed you so much.”

The smile on James’ face fades suddenly. And then he’s looking away toward the window, evidently embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I don’t –“

Remus chooses that precise moment to clear his throat, giving Sirius a warning look, before walking towards James and putting a gentle hand on the slope of his shoulder. “You don’t need to apologize for anything, James. It isn’t your fault.”

“I know,” James says, but it sounds numb.

Unease prickles sharply on the back of Sirius’ neck. It suddenly just _hits_ him, how unnatural it is that James doesn’t seem to know anything. It doesn’t feel right that the past eight years have just vanished like that, dissolved into oblivion. He admits that the last two in particular may have been a disaster, but – before that, before James changed his mind, it had all been so _good_ between them, so untouchable and raw and good.

James is staring out through the enchanted windows, at the dark moonless sky punctured open with a few distant stars. For a second he looks much smaller, much younger, and so vulnerable that something behind Sirius’ ribcage aches.

And then he says, quite sullenly, “I’m tired.”

“Of course,” Remus steps back at once. “You need sleep, don’t you, you’ve still got so much healing to do. We should just – we should leave you to it. Would you like us to come back and see you tomorrow?”

James shrugs dismally, still looking out the window.

“James,” Remus says, watching him. “We’re here for you, you know, no matter what. I know it must be incredibly frustrating to be in this position, but – you need to know that we would do anything for you, James, anything that you ask at all. Okay?”

“Yeah,” James finally turns away from the window to look at the pair of them. His eyes linger for a moment on Sirius’, a brief lock of brown against grey, earth diffusing into smoke. “I know. Thank you.”

Remus tugs on Sirius’ arm lightly, pulling his attention momentarily off James. “Come, he needs to rest. We’ll see him tomorrow.”

“I want to stay,” Sirius says immediately. The words are out before he can think to stop them. “I need to.”

“ _Padfoot_ –“

“No. I want to stay.”

Remus gives him an exasperated look, then lowers his voice so that James can’t hear. “Don’t you see? He _wants_ to be alone. Us staying here is just going to overwhelm him, Sirius, we need to give him time to come to grips with all of this on his own.”

“But it’s been –“

“I _know_ it’s been a long time since you’ve seen him,” Remus grimaces, like it hurts to speak. “But think about James. You can see him first thing in the morning if you want, just leave him be tonight. He needs _time_ , Padfoot.”

Sirius looks back at James, who’s still observing them quietly. And then he decides that Remus is probably quite right as usual, so he bites his lip and gives James an awkward half-wave that feels a bit too forced and artificial.

“Uh – goodnight, then. I’ll – I’ll come and see you tomorrow, yeah?”

James nods without replying. And that’s strange, Sirius thinks, the silence casually filling the room like some type of flood – like there are no longer any words to be exchanged between then, like there never were.

He becomes aware of Remus tugging on his arm again. With a final look at James (now staring out the window again), the two of them quietly walk out of the ward, closing the door behind them as they leave. He doesn’t miss the way the air feels a lot easier to breathe the second they’re out of the room. Merlin, it feels like they’ve stepped into a different fucking universe altogether.

They begin meandering through the different passages of the hospital, and it’s not until they’re both standing outside in the icy, sharp night and Sirius is lighting himself a smoke that Remus finally speaks again.

“Well, what do you think?”

Sirius shrugs and puffs moodily on the cigarette. “I don’t think I deserve it.”

“Deserve what?”

“Him being _nice_ to me,” Sirius says, disliking how the words taste so jaded as they leave his mouth. “Looking at me like he hasn’t hated me for the past year and a half.”

“But he hasn’t,” Remus says, looking at him. “He – he had to make a choice, Sirius. And just because he didn’t choose you doesn’t mean –“

 _It’s not that, it’s never just been that,_ Sirius wants to shout, but the words seem too loud and accusatory to throw out against the still nighttime, so he bites them back down and keeps his mouth shut.

“What I said about him needing time,” Remus says. “I mean it, Sirius. I know – I know how you feel about him, I know it can be intense and, and all sorts of other things. But James doesn’t know any of that, okay? He won’t be able to understand if you just –”

“I know.”

“What I mean to say is – don’t force anything onto him.”

Sirius lets out a harsh, loud laugh that vibrates so shrilly in the cold air that it makes Remus wince, but there’s no trace of mirth behind it. “I’m not going to try to make him love me like he did before, Moony, if that’s what you mean. Don’t you think one and a half years of suffering has taught me my fucking lesson?”

Remus watches him for a second, not replying. Then he says, “no,” very quietly, and it doesn’t even sound like he’s mocking him. “No, Sirius, I just don’t think it has.”

-

That night in his apartment Sirius makes himself a bitter cup of tea and swallows the scalding liquid in a few burning gulps before crawling into bed. He listens to the rustle of leaves outside his window for a few moments, and then drifts off into a hazy, restless sleep.

He dreams that he’s running. Cold winds whipping like razor-sharp blades in his face, paws soundlessly bounding against the black earth of the Forest. Silent pairs of yellow, moonlike eyes blink at him from behind the leaves as he passes. He runs and runs and runs, a dark four-legged shape hurtling like a shadow against the night, until he finds himself at the edge of the Forest, where the trees have thinned out to reveal a sparse, empty patch of land. An owl hoots mournfully and takes flight when he steps into the clearing.

“ _Padfoot!_ ” a voice calls out; and it sounds too familiar, too haunting. “I’m over here!”

Sirius looks around, canine ears pricking sharp, looking for the source of the voice.

“I’m here, can’t you see me?” it shouts again.

He lets out a low, feral growl. When it speaks again he snarls at the empty air around him.

“I’m always going to be here,” the voice is saying, quieter now, “nothing will change that.”

And then the darkness of the Forest falls away, and Sirius is standing, with his teeth still bared, in his black suit at James’ engagement party, holding an elegant glass of champagne in his hand. James stands across him, handsome but placating.

“Are you even listening to me?” he asks, exasperated voice ringing out against the buzz of chatter from guests in the brightly-lit room. “I said I’m always going to be here. This doesn’t change _anything_ between us, Padfoot. I promise, okay?”

Sirius’ eyes land on the smooth, shining stone set in the ring on James’ fourth finger. It catches the light from all directions, glinting.

“ _Say_ something,” James sounds like he’s pleading now, and his hand reaches out, fingers closing around Sirius’ wrist.

The touch feels searing hot, branding against his skin, and Sirius yanks away immediately. The glass of champagne that he’s holding slips from his grip and smashes onto the floor. The golden liquid is splattering everywhere, and then it’s turning into dark blood as it stains the walls.

And when Sirius looks back up, James is bleeding too; bleeding from his nose and his eyes and his mouth; the hot, sticky redness gushing out like a tsunami as he tries to speak. His hands fly to his own throat, gripping hard, struggling to breathe. Sirius can only stand and watch, _horrified_ , as James crumples to the ground in front of him. The room suddenly fills with piercing, echoing screams as the guests realize what’s happening, and then Lily is shouting at him, throwing vases like knives, tears pouring down her face.

“How could you let him wear it?” she screams, sobbing violently. “You knew it was cursed! How could you do that to him?”

Sirius watches, speechless, as Lily sinks to the ground beside James’ body and holds up his cold, dead hand. The silver ring there shines under the light, untouched by the puddle of blood he’s laying in. She wrenches it off his finger and flings it at Sirius. “You let him wear it! You let him wear the ring, you knew it would kill him!” she’s shrieking, weeping into James’ shoulder. “You _killed_ him!”

The ring lands at his feet, glimmering, but before he can bend down to pick it up – Lily is screaming again; a single-noted, long, high-pitched sound that shatters every window, so loud that the other guests in the room collapse one by one with their hands over their ears. She doesn’t stop screaming until all the walls of the house dissolve away and Sirius hears the terrifying sound ringing inside every particle of his body; until he’s down onto his knees, crying, _begging_ for her to stop.

-

He awakens, panting, a little bit before dawn.

There’s white frost crawling up against his window, concentrated in the middle and then thinning out across the glass as it extends. Sirius allows himself a brief moment to gaze at it while he remains in bed, thinking that it feels like there’s frost just like that inside him; thick and cold in the centre of his chest, spreading out into little tendrils through his veins. And then he snorts and swallows a rough laugh, thinking it might be some type of fucking sign, some message from the cosmos, if he were to believe in such thing.

But he doesn’t. That’s the problem. Sirius hasn’t believed in anything for a long time.

He puts together a hasty breakfast of burnt toast and tea for himself, then makes a lazy attempt at some household spells to make the bed and clear his plates. When that’s done he goes back into his room to find his robes. He pulls them on, then crams the pockets full of the Pumpkin Pasties that he’d bought last night. For some reason his mind doesn’t appear to bother registering half the things he’s doing until he’s actually done them, resulting in mechanical movements that don’t make much sense – like a puppet that’s being jerked along on a very long string, not really sure who’s pulling anymore. Well, most of the time Sirius isn’t really sure anyone even is.

By the time he’s standing outside ready to leave his flat, the early winter sky is smudged with long cloudy streams, the barely-there light sloping sideways onto the road and remnants of last night’s papery snow scattered in small piles everywhere. He hurries onto the street and it’s a bit too late to wish he’d thought of wearing something warmer before there’s a faint _pop_ and he’s Apparating.

The world around him disappears, blurring like rippled water against glass, and Sirius’ chest tightens for a few seconds before he lands smoothly outside of St Mungo’s. The orange flares of sunrise soak into the sky above him, dripping everywhere in fat, blotchy droplets.

For a moment it seems a bit eager to him, showing up here at the crack of dawn. But Remus had said he could come see James first thing in the morning – it seems bizarre, really, to be doing anything else.

He makes his way inside smoothly, careful not to collide into a witch teetering all around the waiting room (a bit off-balance, perhaps, due to her grotesquely enlarged head), and finds James’ ward without much trouble. Once he’s standing outside, Sirius takes a deep breath and wills himself to push the door open when he exhales.

James is already awake inside, lying back against a few pillows and lazily flicking his wand around. The twirling movements cause a few fresh flowers on his bedside table to quiver in their vase. He looks up when Sirius enters, and his face immediately brightens enough to suggest that he’s recovered from his bout of sullenness last night.

“Hello,” he says, sitting up a bit straighter and smiling at him. “You’re here very early.”

“Yeah, I’ve brought you breakfast,” Sirius offers him the Pasties as he takes a seat slowly beside the bed. It’s hard to speak, but somehow he manages to get the words out in what he hopes is a sufficiently _natural_ tone. “These used to be your favourite. Thought you might like to have some.”

“Mmm,” James takes the Pasties and begins stuffing them into his mouth almost instantly, talking ungracefully in between chews. “So _good_ – you wouldn’t believe – the hospital food is shit, they gave me a fucking _apple_ for breakfast –“

Sirius feels a small smile tug stubbornly on the corners of his mouth, and watches intently as James wolfs down the Pasties. He’s aware of how much closer to him he is this morning, with barely half a metre between them. He’s no longer protected by space or distance; it must be damn near impossible that James can’t hear the deafening, frantic drumming of his heart. James’ face is illuminated in the morning light, and as it touches his brown eyes it makes them appear incandescent, almost golden. Sirius suddenly realizes that it's become unbearable to look at James all at once; his messy hair, the sleep-addled, bright eyes; because he’s so fucking _beautiful_ that it shouldn’t make any sense, so beautiful he shouldn’t even be real.

“Where’s Remus?” James asks, on his fourth Pasty in five minutes.

Sirius blinks, shakes his head slightly to clear it. “Um. Probably asleep. He’ll show up later.”

“ _I_ could barely sleep, so I’ve just been doing all sorts of things to entertain myself in here. I tried some things with the wand – can’t remember any of the impressive spells, of course, but I got some sparks to fly out of it and I can make them come out in different colours too.”

The eager look in his eye just then is so familiar, Sirius realizes, it’s the exact same look James used to give him at Hogwarts when he’d performed a particularly admirable hex or suggested one of his brutally creative pranks. The look that suggests he’s seeking _approval_ from Sirius, because he was the only person that James had ever needed any validation from.

“Oh,” he says. “Uh – wow, well done.”

James grins at that, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. He takes another bite of the Pasty, then throws a disdainful look around at the ward. “There’s nothing to _do_ here, Sirius. When will they let me out?”

Sirius shrugs. Something sharp has punctured a hole in his chest at the sound of his name in James’ mouth. Now that he’s here, so close, it seems beyond stupid to look away for even a second, to waste any moment of time at all not being completely absorbed by James. “You’re recovering, aren’t you? You need to get better first.”

“I feel _fine_ ,” James lets out an impatient huff, giving Sirius an annoyed look. “I’ve told all the Healers, they keep coming in here to ask if I want any more bloody potions, like I’m some type of patient –“

“You are, though.”

James crosses his arms over his chest and glares at him. “I feel fine,” he repeats. “Tell them I want to be discharged this afternoon. I’m not spending another day in here. There’s nothing to _do_.”

Sirius smiles, because for a moment it feels like James hasn’t changed at all. “You’ve only been here for one night. What’s so terrible about it, anyway? Warm bed, three meals, you probably even get someone to give you your baths as well –“

James tosses the half-eaten Pasty at Sirius’ head, and Sirius immediately ducks away by pure muscle memory.

“Where do you think I’d go after they release me?” he asks, reaching for another Pasty. “Do I even have a house?”

“I’d assume so.”

“Where is it? Is it nice?”

“I don’t –“ Sirius pauses, blinking, and then he lets out a breath at the difficult direction the conversation is headed towards. “I don’t know, James. I’ve never been there.”

“Why not?”

“You – you moved to your own place after you got engaged. And, uh. You never told me where.”

James frowns. “How come?”

“We… stopped talking for a while,” Sirius says, with considerable difficulty. “A very long while, actually.”

James’ eyes narrow suspiciously at him.

“Why’d we stop talking?”

For the first time all morning, Sirius rips his gaze off James, choosing instead to direct it toward the ground, so he can pretend to examine his own feet. There’s a prolonged silence that hangs around heavily in the air before he replies.

“It’s a very long and complicated story.”

“Did you hurt me?” James is still surveying him with that sharp, skeptical kind of scrutiny in his eyes. “Tell me what you did.”

“I didn’t _hurt_ you,” Sirius snaps at him, irritation flaring at the accusation. _Hurting_ him, that’s what James had shouted the last time as well, as if Sirius wanting and loving him was somehow an act that caused James pain. “You – you made a big decision and it affected me in an unpleasant way and you weren’t happy with the way I chose to handle it. That’s all.”

“What decision?” James asks at once. The last Pasty now lies abandoned in his lap. “How did you handle it? Why did it affect you so badly?”

Sirius takes a long, cleansing breath and unclenches his fingers. “It’s not – I’m not certain I want to talk about that right now, James.”

“You’re being very dodgy,” James jabs a sudden, accusatory finger towards Sirius, barely an inch away from his shoulder. Sirius feels the potency of how close his finger is, feels a small shiver erupt down his spine at the inescapable thought that James is nearly _touching_ him for the first time in eighteen months. “It’s bad enough not being able to remember anything without you avoiding all my questions as well.”

Sirius’ eyes travels from James’ finger to his face, flooded in the golden light from the window. “I know,” he says, taking in the set jaw and furrowed eyebrows. “I _will_ tell you at some point but – not now, okay. Maybe after you’ve had time to deal with everything else as well.”

“I’m not a fucking child, don’t talk to me like I don’t understand anything –“

“But you _won’t_ understand –“

“Why not?” James demands, glaring at him.

Sirius glares back. The space between them feels thick and viscous.

“I just don’t think it’s possible to explain that to you now, James,” he gets out after a minute, straining to stay composed. “And I don’t want to – cause you any additional stress.”

“Why would it stress me out? I’m supposed to be _relearning_ my entire life, aren’t I?”

“Well, this hasn’t been part of your life for a long time,” Sirius feels a deep flush rising up his neck as he talks, because it’s fucking humiliating. _It hasn’t bothered you at all, it hasn’t torn you apart, hasn’t cut you up in all the ways it cut me. I was trapped inside a firestorm for eighteen months, James, and you were just fine._

“I’m going to ask Remus when he gets here,” James decides promptly. “ _He’ll_ tell me everything.”

“Don’t you believe me when I say I’ll tell you eventually?”

James scowls at him, arms still crossed. “You’re being a cryptic shit, so no, actually.”

“I would never lie to you, James. You have to know that.”

James purses his lips, surveying him for a few seconds more. And then he uncrosses his arms and finally picks up the last Pumpkin Pasty. “Fine,” he says, taking a bite and swallowing it down. “But only because you brought me these pasties.”

Sirius watches him eat it, still looking grumpy.

“You said I was engaged,” James mentions absently, dusting the crumbs off his fingers.

“You were.”

“To who?”

“Lily Evans,” the name leaves raw, bleeding bite marks around his chest as Sirius says it. “You really liked her. She was – she was incredible. She was everything you wanted.”

“The Healer told me yesterday that the girl I was with – that she was killed,” James is looking intently at him again. “Was it –?”

Sirius exhales slowly. “Yeah.”

James turns his face away. There’s a weighty silence for a long time while he takes in the news.

“I wish I could remember her,” he says finally, voice very quiet. “If I did maybe I’d feel more – more upset, or something – but I can’t. You know? I can’t feel anything at all.”

“I know.”

“It’s wrong, isn’t it?” James says. “I _should_ be angry, what kind of fucked-up fiancé doesn’t feel upset when –“

“James,” Sirius interrupts. “Stop it.”

James closes his mouth and leans back, staring up at the ceiling. There’s a lost, hollow look in his eyes.

“It’s not your fault, none of it is,” Sirius tells him. “There’s no point in beating yourself up over it.”

“Did you know her well?”

Sirius inclines his head. “A bit, yeah.”

Thinking about Lily has turned his entire body cold; frost and snow and black, black ice crawling around his insides. Her face pops into his head, blurred around the edges; smiling at him, so delicately, like Sirius hadn’t spent weeks _hating_ her, convinced that she’d done something to James he had never been able to completely scrub off. Sirius had tried – again and again and again, to fuck the memory of Lily out of James, but it had never achieved anything except create more distance between them.

 _Dead. She’s dead now._ Gone before Sirius had the chance to say sorry for blaming her.

“Um – is it okay if I step outside for a moment, James? I just, I want to smoke. I need some air.”

James shrugs, like he’s only half-listening. Sirius uses the absence of his attention to slip as soundlessly as he can out of the room. There’s an irritating ringing in his ears that makes him want to punch something as he walks out of St Mungo’s and onto the street, but he ignores it.

The people passing by while he lights a cigarette feel strangely faraway, like there’s all this invisible space that’s just grown between him and the rest of the world. They move past, smears of grey wearing coats and hats and gloves, and Sirius can’t help thinking that this is the first time in his entire life that he’s ever wanted to run away from James. He can’t explain it, can’t understand why because all he fucking _wanted_ the past eighteen months was to see James again – and now he’s stuck here, in some sick, terrifying, upside-down reality where James can’t even remember him and Lily Evans is dead.

Fuck, how does anyone even deal with that? It feels like a part of him, something once so familiar and comforting, something he’d understood so well, has been ripped out and Transfigured into something grotesquely different. Feels like there’s a ghost sitting there in that hospital room wearing James’ skin – a stranger. Sirius had _known_ James, every tiny piece of him, had known and memorised and loved him to the point where it became unnecessary to get to know anyone else (save for Remus, and, by some unfortunate default, Peter – but even they were just his best friends, whereas James and him were two inseparable parts of the same whole, they'd always shared one soul, one brain, one everything) – it hardly seems fair that James doesn’t know or understand this at all.

And can it possibly be the same, to _know_ a James who might as well have not been there through everything they had experienced together? Every moment, every adventure, every memory that had defined their relationship, tested and strengthened it, wrecked and destroyed it? It can’t be, because they had grown together, learned and fought through the entire bloody hurricane of adolescence with each other, and then laughed about it later.

He tosses the cigarette butt away. For a moment it seems too easy to just go home, to deal with all of this some other time. But – he’d told Remus he was going to be there for James. Remus was right, Sirius can’t just _leave_ him like that. What’s he supposed to do, though? Tell him everything? Say _I know you can’t remember anything so I hope this doesn’t overwhelm you, mate, but we were in love, once_? Or – or what? Scrub it off, soak the open wounds burning in his chest with Dittany and pretend that none of it ever happened?

He can’t decide which would be worse; trying to crawl back into the past with James when he can’t remember a thing, or to try and look the other way instead, learning to just live with this new, strange, clueless person that he’s become.

Sirius turns back toward the hospital, and it’s only when he’s standing outside the ward again that it occurs to him that it doesn't really matter what he decides to do - because the truth is, he’s just going to end up very fucking hurt either way, and there's nothing that he even can do about it.

-


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _At multiple points Sirius catches himself slipping into longing, stomach-clenching thoughts – like the way James’ mouth moves when he’s laughing, or how his fingers curl and press against the edge of the mattress when he’s saying something particularly fervent._

The next week passes by like the fervent eclipse of a dream, with alternating patterns of light spilling onto the shadows underneath. Without any coherent justification, Sirius finds himself constantly returning to the hospital to see James, like some type of addict; opiated just by being in his best friend’s presence again.

He goes back every single day, like a madman walking right into a fucking hurricane, sitting there in that hospital ward and it’s – it’s like he can’t discern between the two polar-opposite emotions he feels about James anymore, can’t tell if he wants to rip something out of his own chest to stop the hurt or continue to bask in the pure _glow_ of existing in the same space as James, the only bloody thing that he’s wanted for the past eighteen months.

Even if it _is_ a chasm flooded with restless, violet-edged fire and turmoil, there’s just something about being around James again that’s too difficult to resist, to deny. Some silvery remnants of their old selves, something so familiar and calming, in the way they talk and laugh and argue together; something that almost, _almost_ tempts Sirius into pretending nothing has changed.

He’s lying in the soft armchair he conjured next to James’ hospital bed, legs swinging over the wooden arm. The moon is a thin pearly crescent sliced into the sky outside the open window, it’s past midnight, and James is half-buried under the sheets, drowsy from his sleep potion.

“I really shouldn’t let you guilt me into staying here with you so late,” Sirius says, exhaling smoke out of the window.

“ _I_ shouldn’t let you smoke those things inside a hospital,” James’ eyes are heavy-lidded, but the brown heat of them still finds a way to be unfairly distracting.

“They’re not that bad,” Sirius frowns, twirling the cigarette around his fingers, then holds it out toward James. “Here, try it.”

James eyes it warily. “Remus would kill me.”

“Well, Remus isn’t here.”

James shakes his head. “I don’t want one, anyway. Can’t stand the smell.”

Sirius shrugs and slides the cigarette back between his own lips.

There’s a moment or two of quiet, and then James is rolling over onto his side to face Sirius again. “Tell me about me,” he says.

“About you?”

“What was I like?” James’ gaze intently follows the ribboning grey smoke as Sirius blows out, and then returns expectantly to his face. “Both you and Remus know me more than I seem to know myself right now, and it’s just – I don’t really –“

“I’ve told you,” Sirius shifts slightly in the armchair. “We’re your best friends, we have been since you started going to Hogwarts. Well, theoretically there’s Peter, too, but he hasn’t even bothered to visit since –“

“Yeah, he has,” James interrupts.

Sirius raises an eyebrow. “When?”

“Two days ago. Brought me some new clothes and all, said I’d look good in them. He’s a bit odd, but he’s okay, don’t you think? He seems to adore me.”

“Yeah, he’s a bit like that with everyone,” Sirius waves a hand dismissively. “Anyway, we were sort of this group – “

“No, don’t tell me about that, I already know. Tell me about _me_. What was _I_ like, Sirius?”

Sirius doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the way his name sounds coming out of James’ mouth. “Uh,” he pauses, tossing the cigarette aside, pulling his knees up to his chest. He doesn’t know what to say. It seems so absurd to have to describe James in words, because James has always been a _feeling_ to him, one for which no vocabulary could ever exist; James has always been like a thunderstorm, a tsunami, a sunrise. “You were a lot like you are now, actually. Just a bit – a bit less confused, maybe. But always curious. Always brave.”

“Remus says you and I were both exactly the same and completely different to each other.”

Sirius snorts. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

James removes his glasses, rubs the bridge of his nose. He looks younger without them, and his eyes are brighter, clearer. It’s a physical effort for Sirius not to comment on it the way he once could, not to tell James how every minute thing he did is somehow beautiful.

“What was your favourite memory with me?”

“All of them,” Sirius says at once, without even thinking.

“No, choose one,” James tilts his head a little to the right, his cheek getting pressed up against the pillow.

“James, there’s too many of them. I can’t choose one.”

“Okay,” James shrugs. “What’s your _least_ favourite memory with me?”

This one is easier, Sirius decides. “The night we stopped talking.”

James’ eyes seem to be burning a bit warmer now, forehead creasing. “Will you ever tell me what happened on that night?”

Something inside Sirius’ chest feels like it’s cracking. How long has it been, how endlessly has he tried to forget that night? Some nights he awakens from dreams still tasting the blood in his mouth.

“Sirius?”

“Mm,” Sirius says, “’course I will,” and he’s not sure how much he means it.

-

“He likes you, you know,” Remus says, a few days later while they’re sitting on the dingy couch sharing a large bottle of brandy. “He talks about you when you’re not there.”

Sirius sets the glass down. It’s been nearly an hour and it still feels strange to see Remus here in his flat again after so long. The way he throws his coat and scarf onto the table, the way he just lounges on the sofa and then asks for a drink like he’s been here the whole damn time, like nothing has changed.

“What does he say about me?”

“What he’s always said, Pads. That you’re clever, you’re funny, you’re his _favourite_. You always bring him Pasties for breakfast and you talk a lot about Quidditch.”

Something warm rises inside Sirius’ chest like an ocean wave. _James’ favourite._ “Hasn’t he gotten sick of the Pasties yet?”

“Don’t think so,” Remus swallows a mouthful of brandy. “He says you’re very quiet sometimes, though. And he doesn’t know what to think of it. And, well, I might have –”

“Why should he think anything of it?” Sirius interrupts.

“When have _you_ ever been quiet with James?” Remus asks pointedly.

Sirius’ stomach tightens. He’s never been quiet with James, if he’s going to be honest. Not before all this, anyway. And now, it feels like even under the lighthearted conversations about Quidditch, even when they’re sharing a moment or two of loud, glowing laughter – there’s always something splitting open like fissures underneath it all. Something in the way that James looks at him sometimes, like he’s wondering when it’ll be appropriate to ask about their history again. Like he’s _daring_ Sirius, daring him to say everything that he’s biting back out loud.

Sirius rubs at the back of his neck, uncomfortable. “Well, he’s not – he’s not really the same James anymore, is he?”

“Of course he is, why shouldn’t he be?”

Sirius gulps down the rest of the contents in his glass, pretends not to notice the burn as it scorches past his throat. “You know what I mean.”

“No, actually, I don’t.”

“He was my best friend, Moony. We did _everything_ together, all those years at Hogwarts and everything – how can he still be my best friend if he doesn’t even remember –“

“You’re not telling me you think your _experiences_ made you best friends?” Remus raises his eyebrows, voice going unexpectedly sharp.

Sirius reaches to refill his glass and doesn’t reply. He doesn’t think that Remus can understand anyway – _he_ isn’t the one who’s suddenly been hurtled into a past he’d been trying to dig his way out of for over a year.

“Merlin, Sirius, don’t be a fucking idiot,” Remus says. “I _know_ what you’re thinking.“

“I’m not thinking anything.”

“You think he’s not the same James anymore.”

“I never said that.”

“You literally _just_ –“

“It doesn’t matter,” Sirius snaps. An old wave of bitterness is threatening to seep into him, and he’s had _enough_ of it, enough of trying to validate his feelings to anyone, even it’s Remus – nobody knows what it’s been like. Every single stitched-up scar from the last eighteen months has been freshly ripped open; it feels like he’s just bleeding red all over the fucking carpet and no one can see a thing.

“Sirius. You were his best friend since the moment you first laid eyes on him, before you even knew who he _was_.”

“But –“

“But nothing! How come you choose to spend more time with him than literally anybody else? We were in that train carriage together that very first day, weren’t we; all four of us? But it was _James_ you wanted to stay up the whole night with when we arrived at Hogwarts. It was James you paired up with at every occasion, James that you confided in, even before Peter, or me. You always loved James best from that very first day, Padfoot – no, _don’t_ look at me like that, I’m not complaining – and none of it had anything to do with your bloody _experiences_!”

“But he doesn’t remember a thing, Moony,” Sirius closes his eyes for a brief moment. The words taste like defeat, small and pathetic and hollow.

“So what? It’s not – it’s never been about that, Padfoot, because if it was then you’d be in love with me too, wouldn’t you, or you’d be in love with Peter,” – (Sirius scowls disgustedly) – “but you’re not. It’s James, it’s always been James, and not because of the experiences you had together. It’s because of who he _is_. And just because he can’t remember that doesn’t mean he’s not the same person you’ve been so fond of since you were eleven.”

"No, I know, but -"

Remus is looking at him with an intent, unfaltering gaze. The lamplight casts an orange tinge over his skin. “You’re frightened.”

A flare of heated irritation makes Sirius slam the glass back down onto the table in front of him. “I’m not fucking –“

“What are you scared about, Padfoot? I see the way you look at him. What are you trying not to say?”

For a moment, Sirius feels like he can’t breathe, can’t speak. Remus’ questions enter his mouth like a landslide, lodging into the back of his throat. They flood into all the emptied-out spaces inside his body; swelling, scratching, pressing against his organs and threatening to burst out violently through the skin.

_What is he so fucking scared about? What is it that he’s trying not to say?_

Everything in the room has turned into razor-edged shards, fragments, debris. It feels like the floor has disappeared under his feet.

“You want to tell him, Padfoot, don’t you? You want him to know. That you loved him, that you still do.”

Sirius stares down into his glass. He wants to say _of course I do_ , _it’s fucking killing me_ but the words don’t rest properly inside his mouth – they taste hoarse, ugly and shameful, choked-up like they’re about to fall off the edge of the earth.

Before Sirius has time to protest, Remus’ arms are winding around him. His body is warm, the fabric of his jumper rubs like fur against Sirius’ skin, and he can hear the echoes of his own heartbeat traveling frantically through his bloodstream. He wants to scramble out of the hug by pure instinct alone, because he doesn’t _do_ this kind of thing, doesn’t ever sit like this and let himself be fucking cradled like a baby –

“ _Remus_.“

“Tell him,” Remus says, letting go of Sirius. “Maybe not about – not about everything, but –”

“But you said I shouldn’t.”

Remus exhales, eyes carefully surveying him in that same horrible, _pitiful_ way he’d looked at him each time he’d come to see Sirius in the hospital.

“I – I wasn’t thinking about how you would’ve felt, Pads,” he says finally. “I was thinking of James, and it seemed like the best thing to do would be to give him time to adjust, but – it hadn’t occurred to me that you might be _hurting_ –“

“I’m not.“

“You are, though,” Remus says, the words too quiet to exist for long in the space between them.

The light from the ceiling is falling down onto them like rain and something inside Sirius’ mouth tastes like broken glass.

“You said it’s too much for him.”

“Sirius, I – I can’t tell you what the right thing to do is, and I think you know that. You know him better than anyone in the whole world. You’re the only person who can tell if it’s too much for him.”

There’s never been _too much_ with him and James, though, never been any rules or anything to establish order at all. Everything between them had happened like a forest fire, a fever, a goddamn avalanche. And fuck, it had nearly killed him when James tried to impose limits, hadn’t it? It had driven him to his bloody knees to whimper and beg for James like a fucking _dog_ – and it was James shouting _enough is enough_ that had finally hacked into Sirius like a – like a serrated knife or something, it was him shouting _you always ask too fucking much of me_ and _you never think about anything_ and _you fucked this up, you fucked it all up_ –

“He was so _angry_ ,” he croaks suddenly, and for a moment his fractured voice doesn’t even sound like his own. “He was angry, and he couldn’t even _look_ at me, Moony, and all I wanted was –“

“I know,” Remus says quietly. “I’m sorry – I know this hurts. I know none of this has been easy for you.”

“No, it hasn’t.”

“Do you think it’ll ever get better unless you tell him?”

“No,” Sirius says. Hiding from James feels like he’s carrying something raven-black inside himself, something heavy and starved that sinks his bones like anchors.

“So do it.”

“It’s not that fucking simple, Remus,” Sirius exhales impatiently.

But it had been, at some point. In their fourth year at Hogwarts, so long ago that it feels like a different reality now, they’d been drinking outside near the bleachers of the Quidditch pitch. The wind had assaulted them like blades, but they were too young and bold to be bothered by it. Both of them were flushed from the game they’d played moments ago, warmed by the careless, brazen blaze of alcohol. Sirius remembers that they’d been laughing loudly over something stupid one moment, and then James was kissing him the next – and that was it. It had just _happened_ , with no plan or thought or hesitation. No need to explain, no space of time at all between the ecstasy of laughter and the sudden, hurried heat of James’ mouth on his own.

It had all been so reckless, so _easy_.

“Sirius,” Remus says, after a minute of watching him. “He’s going to need a place to stay, once he’s discharged from St Mungo’s. And I – ”

“What’s happened to his house?”

“Not safe anymore,” Remus says. “He was attacked there, wasn’t he?”

The after-burn of brandy is unpleasant in Sirius’ mouth, everything in the room starting to blur into nebulous shadows of colour and smoke. “Can’t he go to yours?” he says, but the question sounds stupid and unnecessary as soon as he hears it, words slurring together uncertainly.

“There’s a full moon next week, Pads,” Remus hangs his head a little apologetically. “He needs someone to take care of him, and I won’t be able to.”

“Remus, you're not suggesting –“

“Where else would he go, Pads? Where else _can_ he?”

“Peter’s,” Sirius says, but he knows at once that he’d rather throw James in front of the Whomping Willow than send him off to live with Pettigrew.

“Peter’s busy, he’s got a job at the Owl Post Office in Hogsmeade – lets him keep an eye on the school, notify the Order if there’s anything out of the ordinary.”

“ _I’m_ busy,” he protests, annoyed that even Peter seems to be a more fucking contributive member of society than he’s been lately.

“He hasn’t got anybody else, Sirius,” Remus insists, and then more quietly, “he needs you.”

James _needs_ him.

“Remus, I – ” Sirius opens and closes his mouth stupidly, blinking. And, oh. He’s definitely drunk now. “I don’t think I can, he can’t come _here_ –“

“Just for a while,” Remus is leaning forward and placing his hands on Sirius’ wrists, the touch soft, reassuring and comforting. “Just until after the full moon, okay, Sirius? He can come stay with me after, if it’s too much for you, but until then – you can do that, can’t you? You can do it for James?”

Sirius is nodding before he’s even registered what Remus is trying to tell him. The information takes a few moments to slide into his head.

“Only till the end of the full moon, though, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Remus squeezes his wrists gently, and there’s a small smile in his voice as he says it. “Yeah, Pads, I promise.”

-

James grins like the fucking sun the next morning when Sirius brings him Pasties for breakfast again and tells him that he’s going to stay with him. “Brilliant! Do you know when I can be discharged?” he asks, shoving the Pasty into his mouth.

“Tomorrow,” Sirius sits across him. It’s strange, he thinks, how it’s nearly impossible to be bitter or angry when he’s alone with James like this. It still aches to look at him – but the pain feels like it’s from a different life or something, feels distant and subdued because _this_ James has nothing to do with the James that broke his heart eighteen months ago. It seems stupid to resent one for the other, when it’s easier to just _not_.

James hurries to swallow down the Pasty, before reaching for his wand. “I’ve been practicing,” he explains eagerly to Sirius. “That levitation charm you taught me yesterday, remember?”

He’s exuberant and happy and Sirius can’t believe he’s going to be _living_ with this living personification of the sun. His mouth twitches slightly at the excitement on James’ face. “Yeah? Show me, then.”

James performs an overly flourished movement of his wand, murmuring, “ _wingardium leviosa,_ ” and the Pumpkin Pasty in his lap obediently rises into the air, hovering there for a few moments until he lowers his wand. His face screws up in concentration as he does it, and then he’s looking expectantly back at Sirius.

“You always were a natural,” Sirius says, watching him, and James _beams_ at him in a way that makes something orange and fiery jerk inside Sirius’ chest.

“And you can teach me all the really cool ones as well, once I move in with you,” the words somehow seem to make their way out from behind the massive grin on James’ face, bright and glowing like fireworks. “And you’ve got a broomstick too! We could go flying, and we could even –“

“It’s only for a while though, James,” Sirius interrupts, because there’s no _way_ he deserves all that excitement and euphoria in James’ voice right now. “Just until – it’s just for two weeks, yeah, and then you’ll be going to stay with Remus.”

“Oh,” James’ face falls as suddenly as it lit up, and he sinks a bit lower back against his pillows. “How come?”

“I’ve, uh –“ Sirius cards his fingers through his hair uncertainly and tries to think up of a legitimate reason that isn’t _I think being around you too much would kill me_. “I’m not the best at household spells, my place can get a bit – uh, it’s disorganized, sometimes –“

“Doesn’t matter,” James says immediately. “I don’t mind a mess.”

“Yeah, but, I’ve got – I can’t cook for shit, and you’re going to need proper food to recover –“

“I’ll live off Pasties,” James shrugs dismissively. “Next?”

“I can be a really awful housemate, I’m always in my room so you’ll get bored, and I have all sorts of nasty things crawling around in the fridge – “

“Bullshit,” James declares, with an unmistakable air of confidence that makes Sirius feel warm and _dizzy_ in the head. “You know I’d love to stay with you. Even with your weird mood swings and impatience and everything.”

“I don’t have _weird mood swings_ –“

“I’ll _show_ you,” James puffs his chest out, giving him a brilliant smile that’s so blinding Sirius doesn’t know where else to look. “I’ll be the best housemate you could even think of having, Sirius – you are going to _love_ having me around. You’ll never want me gone, ever. You’ll be begging me not to go to Remus’.”

Sirius looks back at James, at the way he’s so proud and sanguine and secure like nothing in the world could possibly ever hold him back. Like he’ll discover lost cities, end century-long wars, singlehandedly save the whole entire fucking world without even blinking. _You can_ , Sirius had told him once, drunk on firewhiskey and lying with his head in James’ lap, _you can do anything you want._ James had laughed, said _I think I’ll start with you_ and – fuck. It feels so stupid to be thinking of this now, to be _missing_ James when he’s literally right here in front of him.

The conversation glides smoothly into a discussion of which spells James should learn next (he’s particularly curious about the more unpleasant hexes), and by mid-afternoon Remus arrives, bringing with him Honeydukes chocolates and tuna sandwiches for them to share. They talk about the Hogwarts and the Order and a hundred other things at once and Sirius barely even notices as the afternoon bends aside to give way to the gentle orange heat of twilight.

But even with Remus there, he finds it disconcertingly difficult to focus on anything _but_ James. It’s like the spot where James is seated on his bed has caused some temporary curvature in space-time; everything, from Sirius’ gaze to his body to his thoughts, seems to gravitate inexplicably towards him.

At multiple points Sirius catches himself slipping into longing, stomach-clenching thoughts – like the way James’ mouth moves when he’s laughing, or how his fingers curl and press against the edge of the mattress when he’s saying something particularly fervent.

And, fuck. He doesn’t want to think about it, has trained himself _not_ to think about this for over a year now, because there’s never been any bloody use, has there? No point sinking any lower than he already had. No point digging into the already caustic, emotional wound with an added blow of sexual depravity too. And, well, it had seemed manageable after the first few months apart, to forget the taste of James’ mouth or the sounds he’d made when they – _shit_ , _fuck_ –

As the evening progresses, it gets difficult to ignore the heat rising to his face whenever James’ gaze lands on him for more than a few seconds. All his thoughts are accelerating toward this distracting, petulant urge to _touch_ James – even if, at this point, he’s certain that so much as the slightest, simplest brush of James’ fingertips against his skin would result in him doing something extremely stupid – like crying, or coming in his pants.

He notices a second too late that the room as grown unusually quiet and both Remus and James are gazing expectantly at him. He looks back at them, confused, and then says, “What _?_ ”

Remus smiles amusedly. “James was asking you a question.”

“What question?”

“I asked,” James says, “whether you bother anyone like that, the way you’re always staring.”

“I’m not always staring.”

“Are too. At me, anyway.”

Sirius crosses his arms, annoyed, but his face feels hot. “Why, does it bother you?”

James is grinning. “No, not at all.”

“Well, what’s the problem then?”

“There’s no problem,” James leans back against the pillows, hands behind his head – he must _know_ , Sirius thinks irritably, how he looks doing that. “I’m just acknowledging it.”

“You asked if it bothers anyone.”

“It would creep most people out,” James says, then smiles again. “But I’m not most people, am I?”

Remus rolls his eyes. “Merlin, you’d think losing your memory might make you forget what a bloody egotist you are –“

James shrugs casually, says, “can’t really blame me for having an ego when he’s always looking at me like that.”

Sirius almost snorts. “Like _what_ , exactly?”

“Like you want to –“

“ _James_ ,” Remus interrupts quickly, voice a tad bit louder than necessary. “We talked about this.”

“Talked about what?” Sirius demands immediately, turning to stare at him. “You _talked_ about me?”

James is still smirking at him, eyes so afire they look like dark molten amber, glimmering with challenge. That look on his face drives something knife-sharp and hot into Sirius’ gut, twisting around in a way that makes him want to collapse from the heat.

“Yeah, we talked about you.”

The memory loss thing seems to have conveniently left out the part of James that sadistically gets off on riling Sirius up. “What did you talk about?”

“ _James_ ,” Remus groans again. “Enough.”

“No, tell me,” Sirius snaps, glaring at both of them. “I want to know what you fucking talked about.”

James is wearing that infuriating _I know something you don’t_ expression and it makes Sirius want to shove him into the ground. “Remus says it’s a _secret_.”

“What secret?”

“A big secret,” James laughs giddily, pushing his glasses up his nose. “So big, in fact, that you could even say it would _crush_ you –“

“ _James!_ ”

“Oh, come off it, Remus, he’s not even trying to be subtle –“

“Subtle about _what_?” Sirius says loudly. His heart feels like it’s going to tear straight out of his chest with the force it’s suddenly slamming into his ribcage with.

Remus looks flustered and three shades too guilty. “I might have – well, James wanted to know why you’re always acting a bit odd when, you know –“

Sirius’ face is so flushed he can’t even feel the rest of his body. The effort of speaking is nearly unbearable. “What did you say to him, Remus?”

“He let slip something about you,” James’ face is bright and brilliantly alight now, and he’s clearly enjoying this. “Fancying me.”

“ _JAMES!_ ”

“He fucking _what_?”

\--


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“It’s all we can do, though, isn’t it?” he’s watching the grey clouds dissipate slowly between them. “Pretend that everything’s normal until it actually is?” ___

Remus is already trying to scramble for cover, but Sirius is faster than him – within a second he’s on top of Remus, pinning the treacherous cunt down against the chair and pelting him with a hailstorm of unforgiving fists. “What the – _fuck –_ fuck you, Remus, how could you fucking –“

“ _Ow_ , fuck, stop – that _hurts_ , you prick – get off me, it was an accident, I didn’t mean to!” Remus struggles under him. “He said you’re always acting weird with him, I just mentioned that you might’ve had a little crush, I didn’t say you still do, I just said you _did_ , at some point – “

“ _Why the fuck would you tell him that?”_ Sirius shouts, ignoring Remus’ yelps of pain as he hits him. “He’s coming to _stay_ with me, you piece of –“

“Hey, I still want to come stay with you,” James interrupts loudly.

“No,” Sirius says at once, as Remus finally manages to shove him off, rubbing his bruised shoulders. “No fucking way.”

“Fuck you, that’s not fair!” James sits up suddenly, looking panicked. “Tear off all of Remus’ limbs if you want, but I’m not going anywhere else!”

“No,” Sirius snaps, throwing a violent look at Remus. “ _No_ – I’m not going to fucking – it’s not _funny_ , you prick, it’s humiliating –“

“Nobody’s humiliating you!” James yells. “I still want to stay with you, it doesn’t fucking matter!”

“ _It doesn’t fucking matter_ – you don’t know what you’re talking about, James!”

“Only because _you’re_ too scared to tell me whatever it is you’re hiding –“

“ _Scared?_ ” Sirius shouts back, “oh, you just wait till you hear what I’ve got to say, you fucking –“

James hurls a pillow at Sirius. “So _tell_ me!” 

Sirius’ chest is too tight for the rapid breaths he’s trying to take as he smacks the pillow aside. “No,” he says, his voice clipping roughly. “Fuck it – I’m going out for a cigarette.”

“I’m coming,” James declares at once, jumping out of the bed.

“ _No_ –“

Sirius tries to make a run for it, darting right of the room and past the labyrinth of hospital corridors – James, apparently recovered enough to chase after him, following close behind and jostling through the minor obstacles of Healers and patients alike, until they’re both panting outside in the thin, wispy night air.

With his ribs aching, Sirius leans against a lamppost, and scowls as James comes to a halt a few steps in front of him.

“Hey –“ James starts, but Sirius cuts him off with a furious glare as he pulls out the pack of cigarettes and lights one hastily.

“No,” he says again. “I won’t have it.”

“No, listen,” James says, and his voice is lowered, almost bordering on the edge of a plea, “I didn’t think you’d take it like this – but I have nowhere else to go, Sirius, I have no one else to go _to_.”

The urgent, needy look on his face makes the smoke taste sour in Sirius’ mouth, but he doesn’t say anything.

“I won’t ever mention it again if you don’t want me to, but I – I really want to stay with you,” James’ eyes are as close to apologetic as Sirius has ever seen them, wide and raw, “please. I don’t even care about what Remus said, honestly, I don’t, and I didn’t mean to –“

“What else did he tell you?”

“What? Nothing!”

“Are you sure?” for a moment, Sirius’ lungs feel like they’re shrinking, but the confused expression on James’ face settles his fears almost immediately.

“Yeah, ‘course I am!” he says defensively. “Look, I shouldn’t have said all that stuff in the ward, I was just being stupid, I don’t know why I –“

“Of course you do, it’s because you’re James fucking Potter,” Sirius snorts, feeling the panic subside considerably now that it’s clear James doesn’t know anything else. “Attention is to you what air is to the rest of us.”

James’ eyebrows rise at that, but he seems unwilling to give in to the bait so easily. “ _Sirius_. I promise I’ll never ever say another a word about this –“

“Okay, okay,” Sirius grunts, his annoyance turning insipid, like it’s always done, in the face of James’ genuine vulnerability.  “But it’s like I said – just for a while.”

James’ face breaks into a relieved smile, and some of the warmth on his face feels like it’s somehow transferred under Sirius’ ribs.

He clears his throat unnecessarily after a moment, trying not sound as ludicrous as he feels. “Whatever Remus said about me – don’t let it get to your head, okay. It’s nothing.”

James looks like he’s putting in physical effort to not reply with anything snarky, and he even manages a strained smile. “Yeah. I know. Promise I’ll never mention it again.”

Sirius nods and takes the last finishing puffs of his cigarette, trying not to let the injured pride show, trying to force out a rough laugh and let this whole incident pass unnoticed. James waits patiently, not saying anything until Sirius flings the cigarette aside. When he’s done, the two of them turn back toward the hospital, walking back in together with none of the irritated fury they’d rushed out with.

“When I move in with you I suppose I’ll have to start buying my own Pasties,” James says.

_When I move in with you._ The concept still seems so faraway, when nearly two weeks ago if someone had told him James would be coming to stay with him, Sirius would have promptly hexed them and told them to fuck off. He tries to imagine what it will be like, sharing such proximity with his best friend again, after – after such a fucking long time, wonders if he’ll ever even get used to the way it feels to have James around.

“Yeah,” he says as they re-enter the ward. “I’m tired of waking up early for you anyway. I need my sleep.”

James grins at him again. “ _Sleep?_ You do know I’m never letting you sleep again.”

Sirius rolls his eyes at the way James sounds like a fucking _child_ going for a sleepover. “You’re still an invalid in my books, so I expect you to remain bedridden for the duration of your stay.”

Remus is still in the room, and he looks up anxiously when they return. “Oh, thank God,” he says, “I thought you’d killed each other out there.”

“ _You_ are still not forgiven, you fucking traitor,” Sirius scowls at him.

“Luckily, Sirius and I are going to overlook this unfortunate occurrence,” James declares, flopping back onto the hospital bed. “Looks like you might not be losing all your limbs after all.”

“Oh, _Sirius and you_?” Remus scoffs. “What, you’re tag-teaming against me now?”

Sirius pretends to ignore it, but there’s a brief flicker of pride along his sternum at that, the way it feels so natural that James and him are a pair; unbeatable, inseparable, even by their best friends. This is how it used to be, how it always should have been, dammit.

A large part of him wants to argue that it’s ridiculous, that this stupid inkling of hope being harboured somewhere inside him will never reach the light, that eighteen months should have fucked him up enough to teach him his bloody lesson, that he should _know_ how this ends, but – but there’s some insurrectionist defiance clawing away at the husk of these thoughts, one that’s been growing steadily since the moment James fucking _smiled_ at him.

That’s the worst part; that under all this craving, the feeling that James left behind is still raw, still tender, still hurts to fucking touch. It’s this reminder that serves as a final obstacle in the losing battle Sirius has been waging with his reason, and even that sometimes seems so minute, so insignificant compared to what he really wants…

_No_ , Sirius snaps the thought in two before it can fully materialize in his head. _No, it’s not going to happen again and you better learn to live with that._

From the other side of the room, James is still talking to Remus, but Sirius can feel the singe of his gaze without even having to look.

\--

Sirius barely sleeps all night.

In the morning his apartment feels different, like James has already changed it without being here. Apprehension hovers in the air, mingled with nervous excitement. James has been here before, of course, thousands of times, and the anticipation of things going back to the way they used to be – fuck, it’s almost too much to take.

He spends an additional fifteen minutes performing some household spells around the flat in an attempt to make it more presentable, but part of him already knows James will prefer it in its usual state of disarray. Once that’s done, he hurries out the door so swiftly that he almost laughs at his own unfettered enthusiasm. Within moments he’s Apparating smoothly onto the street outside of St Mungo’s, damn near bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Remus is already waiting outside there with James, in a brown cloak that flutters slightly as Sirius arrives in front of them. James is no longer in the plain hospital gown – and it less than a moment’s glance for Sirius to notice how sharp he looks now, dressed in handsome black robes that Remus must’ve given him. His hair is in its usual mess, unkept and appearing lighter under the sun, and even though it shades most of his face the smile that appears immediately when he sees Sirius is unmistakeable.

Sirius feels himself grinning back. “Hello. I’m not late, am I?”

“No,” James says, stepping forward. “They’ve just released me. How are we getting to yours? Can we Apparate?”

Remus glances at Sirius. “That would be the fastest way, but…”

“But what?”

“But nothing,” Sirius interrupts, ignoring the warmth flaring under his collarbones. He knows, of course, why Remus is hesitant. James can’t Apparate so he’ll have to travel with Sirius – and that involves him having to hold onto Sirius’ arm, a small act that seems comically magnified when even the merest thought of _any_ physical contact with James is enough to make Sirius’ stomach drop.

“Well, okay,” Remus says. “I’ve already told Peter to go collect your things from your own home. He’ll be round this evening, is that okay? I’ll swing by for dinner as well.”

“Can we go now?” James asks. “I want to see where Sirius lives.”

Sirius looks at him, mentally trying to prepare himself – James is going to be _touching_ him. He forces his mind to blank out and holds out an arm stiffly. “Come on, then. Grab hold. ”

“See you later, Remus.”

James has got barely a moment to grab onto Sirius before he _pop_ s them away. The short journey is uncomfortable and sudden enough that Sirius can barely feel James’ fingers tightening, alarmed, over his arm, before they’re both outside his flat.

Once they’re on the ground Sirius pulls his arm away instinctively, like a dog that’s just sniffed a trap.

“Jheeze,” James is straightening his glasses, looking mildly ruffled. “Surely it can’t be _that_ unpleasant to Apparate _every_ time.”

Sirius feels himself laughing. “You get used to it, I think. Doesn’t beat a broomstick, though, but the Ministry’s always fretting about wizards being attacked if they’re flying too low. Last month they pushed for this _rulebook_ of sorts you need to comply with just to be able to fly on your broom.”

James’ face wrinkles, like he’s disgusted at the very thought of it. “Doesn’t that defeat the whole point of flying?”

Sirius sighs. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you. Things are changing, though, these days. Everyone’s nervous with the war going on. Death Eaters are torturing people for sport, and even the best Aurors are dropping like flies.”

He says the words casually, almost without thinking, but they immediately seem to grow and darken once they’re out of his mouth. They fill the room like poison, sticky and ugly.

James is picking at his fingernail, but his face looks like it’s about to crumple. “He’s the reason behind all this, isn’t he? He Who Must Not Be _fucking_ Named. He’s the reason Lily’s dead, the reason I can’t remember anything – if I weren’t so fucking handicapped –“

“James, no,” Sirius cuts him off, and he knows he should try to be placating, but the mention of the dark lord has already caused a surge of anger to blaze, red and furious, inside him. None of this is fucking _fair_. There’s so much injustice in the war that Voldemort has caused and the only people who seem to be paying the price are the good ones. “You’re right, he’s a piece of shit and you have every right to want to fight back. And I promise you that when the time comes, we _will_ fight. All of us, with everything we’ve got. But for now –”

“Will we go after them?” James says quietly, and there’s an intensity in his eyes that makes Sirius’ bones feel like they’ve turned to liquid. “The Death Eaters who did this to me?”

“Of course we will,” Sirius says at once, and he doesn’t even think _we don’t know who they are_ or _how will we find them_ or _you can barely Stupefy someone, how could you go after Death Eaters_ – he only thinks that this is something he has to do, that being cruel and vindictive is the only way to respond to anyone who would hurt James. “Of course we’ll go after them, Prongs.”

\--

Later, they drink through the evening with two bottles of nettlewine, and Remus and Peter join them for dinner, and everyone’s laughing together at the table, like a real-life snapshot from the old days, and thoughts about the war flit away again.

Sirius becomes aware that this is beginning to feel too easy, this whole act of everyone pretending like the last eighteen months have been waved away, cigarette smoke into the night air. It’s like they’re saying _this is how it could have been, you know, this is how good it could have been_ and he doesn’t know if he wants to keep up the act or rip it to shreds before it starts to hurt again.

James is the only one who seems to share some sense of unease with him, and he says this, when they’re standing alone outside for a few minutes in the balcony while Sirius smokes. “It’s all we can do, though, isn’t it?” he’s watching the grey clouds dissipate slowly between them. “Pretend that everything’s normal until it actually is?”

“Will it ever be, though?”

“It’s kind of them, to do it,” James says after a moment, ignoring the question. “They know I’d be miserable otherwise, anyway. This might be a difficult concept for you to grasp, Sirius,” he grins at him, “but sometimes there are other things to do, than wallowing in your own sadness all the time.”

“Fuck off, I do other things too,” Sirius tosses the cigarette over the wiry metal railing. “Sometimes I brood.”

James laughs, and just like that, the wariness that had cut a valley open inside Sirius just minutes ago is gone. It must be magic of a whole different sort, he thinks, how just being alone with James feels like an instantaneous remedy any type of discomfort.

“I think you need to learn how to like being happy,” James tells him, rolling his head backwards on his shoulders so that he’s tipping slightly over the edge of the balcony. “I know moodiness is your whole brand or whatever, but still.”

Sirius feels the corners of his mouth lift slightly. “Mm, well, maybe I like being moody.”

“You’re right,” James says after a moment, nonchalant. “You’re like a storm living as a person.”

The words catch Sirius by surprise.

“But I like that about you, weirdly enough,” James lifts his head back up again so that his eyes can meet Sirius’ – cocoa-coloured and insouciant, like he doesn’t know that he looks like the most mesmeric thing in the world right now. “I think a lot of people must do, even if they don’t understand it. Everyone loves a good tragedy.”

“I’m not a fucking _tragedy_ ,” Sirius tries to laugh, but it comes out sounding hollow and rough around the edges.

James smiles at him, like he can see through it, and suddenly Sirius feels like he’s stark naked.

The vulnerability slices into him without warning, going through every single one of his organs and leaving him gushing red all over. He finds his body tightening, like a clenched fist. “You don’t know the first thing about me, James,” he says through bared teeth. “Don’t act like you do.”

James’ eyes widen in surprise at the sudden hostility, but he quickly recovers and squares back up. “What about me knowing you always bothers you so much?”

“It doesn’t fucking _bother_ me – “

“Do you think I’m going to be afraid of you?”

Sirius is snarling before he knows it, crimson and feral. His knuckles are aching to punch something. “You’re fucking pushing it, James, I swear to God –”

James steps forward stubbornly. “Or – is it worse? Do you think I’m going to fall in love with you?”

“Shut the fuck up if you know what’s good for you,” he hisses, and without really understanding how it’s happened, Sirius is pointing his wand at James, every molecule in his body white-hot with fury. “Don’t you dare say another fucking word, you fucking – ”

“What in the name of Merlin is going on out here?”

Remus has stepped into the balcony past the curtains, and his face looks pale with shock. He looks between them, like he’s demanding an explanation. “Are you crazy, Sirius, put that wand away! He’s just stepped out of the hospital today, are you trying to send him back already?”

“No,” Sirius hastily lowers his wand and stuffs it back into his robes. James is still standing frozen in front of him, and Sirius tries not to look at him while talking. “But he’ll find himself on the streets if he’s not careful.”

“Are you okay, James?” Remus asks, like _James_ is the one he should be worried about right now.  

“Of course I am,” he says loudly, making it a point to glare at Sirius, “I’m not sure _all_ of us here are, though.”

Sirius opens his mouth to answer but James is already storming back inside, slamming the balcony door behind him. The noise makes an owl take flight from a nearby tree, hooting indignantly.

\--


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Loved me?” Sirius repeats savagely, hackles rising. “Merlin, if you believe that, then you’re as stupid as –“_
> 
> _“Sometimes people love more than they know what to do with it,” Remus interrupts. “And they become desperate to destroy it before it destroys them.” ___

“Can you fucking _believe_ him?” Sirius roars at Remus, once James is gone.

Remus steps back, slightly. “What happened, exactly?”

Sirius tries to explain but fumbles around the furious, boiling words. It’s difficult to actually speak, now that the full realization of James’ words are slamming into him. “He said – he asked if I – if I thought he would _fall in love_ with me,” he splutters, anger filling him again. Who does James think he fucking _is_? “How fucking dare he talk to me like that – after –“

“Padfoot, Pads, stop that, don’t work yourself up,” Remus says quickly, waving his hands in front of Sirius to get his attention. “James doesn’t know what he’s saying. He’s careless with words, he always has been.”

“How could he even fucking _think_ of –“

“Because he doesn’t know, Sirius,” Remus interrupts, and his voice is quiet but firm, like an anchor falling into sea. “He doesn’t know what happened, so how can he know why it makes you so angry? He’s just pushing your buttons for fun, and I don’t think he could have had any way of realizing that this was too far.”

Sirius takes a deep breath, and the air streaming into his chest still feels heated.

“You can’t be angry at him for something he doesn’t even know about,” Remus is raising his eyebrows. “That’s hardly fair to him at all. I _know_ ,” he says, seeing the look on Sirius’ face, “that he’s capable of being a prick about it, but that’s just the way James is and you know that better than anyone.”

Sirius massages his temples and decides after a moment that Remus is probably right.

“I know – I know that you just don’t want to get hurt again,” Remus tells him, dusting at his own robes absently. “But you need to stop confusing James just being brash and annoying now with what he’s done to you before.”

“He could do it again, you know,” Sirius spits out the coarse, ugly words, and they dig like bullets back into his own skin. “If he did it to me once he could do it again.”

“Oh, _Pads_ ,” Remus’ eyes soften immediately, and Sirius hates that, hates that somehow he warrants _pity_ out of Remus, the fucking werewolf. “You don’t know – how hard that was for him…”

“I don’t care how hard it was, Remus,” Sirius grits his teeth, “I only care that after everything I did for him, _everything_ we had, he still had it in him to do it. He knew it would’ve killed me, he knew I would’ve _died_ rather than lose him, and he didn’t even fucking –”

He stops talking, swallowing away the rest of the sentence with a heave. The bitterness in his words is now sharp and familiar, swelling thickly inside him.

There are so many things he wants to shout. _I would’ve done anything for him. I dug graves in my heart for him to lay his demons to rest. How could he not understand that? How could he not know that he was all I wanted?_

But there’s no use to trying to describe the way it feels to Remus, to anyone. No matter how many words he coughs up, bloodstained, dirty or raw, they don’t come anywhere close to telling what it’s actually been like the last year and a half.

Remus is looking at him, the expression on his face fragmented with sadness. “I’m sorry,” he says, “There isn’t any justification for the way he treated you, none at all, but – Padfoot, he was reckless and harsh and blind, but he _loved_ you.”

“Loved me?” Sirius repeats savagely, hackles rising. “Merlin, if you believe that, then you’re as stupid as –“

“Sometimes people love more than they know what to do with it,” Remus interrupts. “And they become desperate to destroy it before it destroys them.”

The memories come pelting down onto Sirius, quick and violent. How the days had been falling into each other like a tumbling house of cards, all splattered with the same heartbroken, miserable loneliness. And all of it, for James, who hadn’t been there. James, who wouldn’t have cared to be even if he could. Who, at that point, was no more than a fucking spectre in Sirius’ life, a ghost that he’d had to learn how to live around, carrying inside him like the symptoms of a disease.

Remus says, “I won’t say that what he did to you was right or that you deserved any of it. But I will tell you that it ate away at him, all those months, even if he didn’t show it. He wasn’t himself for weeks when he’d found out you were in the hospital – but you know how James is, him and his _pride_ , he insisted to everyone that you were a powerful enough wizard that you wouldn’t be able to kill yourself, even if you’d tried – but he was fucking nervous, and everyone knew it, terrified that one morning someone would send an owl and make him realize his worst fear.”

Sirius’ body feels cold and numb all over, like his veins have been filled with fistfuls of ice. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t _anyone_?”

“Why shoot curses at a bird when its wings are already broken?”

Sirius can’t speak, can’t breathe or think past the tsunami wave of heartache that’s suddenly surging through him. It’s the only thing that he’d wanted all those months, the _one_ fucking thing he needed – to know that James still cared, to know that there was still an echo of tenderness sitting buried somewhere inside him – it was the one, tiny, shriveling thing Sirius could have been able to hold on to, and yet – hadn’t James refused him even that? Hadn’t he been cruel and dismissive and cold, even when Sirius was crying in front of him like a fucking child, his heart pouring blood all over his hands?

“My point is, Pads,” Remus clears his throat, after a long silence. “He wouldn’t have cut you off like that if he could’ve helped it – you need to understand that James isn’t inclined toward hurting you; it tormented him, and even though he can’t remember anything now, I’m sure he’ll be glad of any reason to avoid doing it again.”

A piece of Sirius falls off his body, like an emotional limb, rolling across the ground and tumbling down off the balcony. He feels like he’s running out of ways to get used to the hollowness or feel whole again.

“Just – start over with him, okay?” Remus sighs, lashes lifting as he looks up intently at Sirius. “It’s been barely two weeks and it’s obvious to Peter and me that he already likes you best. Give him a chance. I think that _both_ of you deserve to have your best friends back.”

\--

Remus ends up staying over, claiming that it’s for James’ safety in case Sirius finds something else to fight about. James has already locked himself inside his assigned bedroom by the time Remus and Sirius step back inside from the balcony, and refuses to re-emerge for the rest of the night.  

The next morning they have breakfast together and James doesn’t join them until both Remus and Sirius are nearly done with their toast. His eyebrows raise at the Pumpkin Pasty that’s been waiting for him on the table.

“Is this meant to be an apology?” he snorts, looking at Sirius, but sits down and starts eating it anyway.

“Of sorts,” Sirius says, shrugging and trying not to notice how James looks, with traces of sleep still caught around his eyes and his morning hair. “There’s a very small chance I might have over-reacted, a little bit, last night. In any case, I shouldn’t have pointed my wand at you, especially since you can’t even defend yourself.”

“Thank you for talking some sense into him,” James nods at Remus, then, at Sirius, “and thanks for the Pasty.”

“Here, I’ve got you something else too,” Sirius waves his wand and a heavy box sitting in the corner of the room zooms toward them, stopping short of the dining table. When Sirius lowers his wand it slams onto the ground with a dull thud next to James.

James abandons the Pasty immediately and reaches for the box, working at tearing it open with unmistakable excitement. He digs around the contents and takes one out, holding up a purple book with dark leather bindings. “Spellbooks?” he grins, looking up at Sirius.

“One of these days you might piss me off again and I’d like for you to be able to at least throw some countercurses back at me,” Sirius says. “Otherwise it’s like punching a baby. There’s no triumph in it.”

Remus rolls his eyes, but James looks delighted as he continues going through the box, discovering a collection of Sirius’ old textbooks on everything from Transfiguration to Herbology, books about Quidditch that he’d borrowed from the library at Hogwarts and managed to never actually give back, clippings from detention notices the two of them had received, even old photographs of James in his Quidditch uniform, manically waving around the trophy Cup he’d won for Gryffindor that year.

James is beaming so much that it seems to fill the whole room with light. “Hey – thanks, Sirius,” he says earnestly. “This is brilliant.”

Sirius doesn’t say anything, but the base of his abdomen is glowing with warmth at the look on James’ face.

Remus leaves after breakfast, and Sirius decides to dedicate the rest of the day to teaching James new spells, ignoring Remus’ advice to start with simple charms and going solely with James’ requests to learn the most hideous hexes he can find in the books. He’s a fast learner, equipped with both talent and boundless enthusiasm, and as the morning climbs into evening, they find themselves running around the apartment, throwing jinxes at each other and ducking behind the furniture to avoid getting hit.

Sirius notices, with considerable satisfaction, that James doesn’t seem at all subdued despite their argument last night. If Sirius had exploded like that in front of anyone else, they would’ve spent the entirety of the next week treading cautiously around him, nervous about setting him off again – but James is equal parts unbothered and audacious, and Sirius might even have been annoyed by the unbridled provocations James is throwing at him if he didn’t find James so bloody entertaining.

And, fuck – he loves it. There’s no other way of putting it. He still can’t believe that James is back here again, his loud laughter echoing off the walls, taking up every spare inch of space that’s available in the flat. James’ presence is so obvious and palpable, and Sirius can’t fucking get enough of it, can’t help thinking that this is all he’s ever needed; he wants to just stay here and bask in James’ company for the rest of his life. He doesn’t know how he managed to forget this, how he ever lasted a second without it when it’s more delicious than anything in the world.

It’s only hours later, once James has had sardines spilling out of his nose for the tenth consecutive time, that he finally declares that he’s had enough. Sirius performs a hex-breaker on him, and the two of them settle down onto the sofa, panting. They’re not touching, Sirius notes, but the proximity is enough to make it feel like they are.

“Why _Prongs_?” James says after a moment, swinging his legs haphazardly over the edge of the couch.

“It’s your Animagus,” Sirius blinks, slightly distracted by the movement.

“And an Animagus is…?”

Sirius sits up, surprised. “Has Remus not mentioned it to you?”

James shakes his head slowly.

Sirius feels himself grin. “Well, brace yourself,” he says, and even before the intention to do so has fully formed in his mind, he feels his body changing; limbs being retracted in, teeth drawn out into his widening mouth, canine eyes blinking up at the look of bewilderment on James’ face.

James yelps, jumping backwards at once. “What the _fuck_?”

Padfoot lifts his head, letting out a low whine.

James stares at him, wide-eyed for a moment, and then starts laughing. The noise immediately makes Padfoot’s tail accelerate into an uncontrollable wag. He takes a few steps toward him and jumps up onto the couch, letting James take hold of one of his paws and examine it.

“ _Padfoot_ , of course,” James smiles, “you’re bloody adorable as well. And you still look like you!”

Padfoot lets his tongue loll out of his mouth and barks. James’ fingers are buried in the black coat of fur, scratching around his midsection in a way that makes his tail go even faster.

“I think I prefer you like this,” James says, tilting his head to the side and laughing when Padfoot licks at his hand. “Alright, go on then, can you change between dog and human any time you want?”

Padfoot bounds off the couch and onto the carpet. A second later his body is morphing once more, spine straightening out and tufts of fur disappearing until he’s Sirius again – standing in front of James, who immediately jumps up.

“An Animagus,” Sirius says, flushing slightly at James’ genuine amazement, “is someone who can change into an animal whenever they want to.”

“That’s literally the most incredible thing I’ve ever heard,” James gapes at him, clearly impressed. “Can I do it too?”

“You used to, yeah,” Sirius sits back down onto the sofa and James mirrors the movement. “You were a stag, antlers and all – hence the nickname.”

James looks like he doesn’t even know what to do with this exciting new information. “And Peter and Remus? They can do it too?”

“Well – Peter can,” Sirius says.

“How come Remus can’t?”

“I don’t think I’m really the person to tell you that,” Sirius says, a little uncomfortably. “Remus won’t mind you knowing, obviously, but it’s just not my place to say.”

“Do you think I can still do it?” James asks, obviously more interested in his own animal transformation. “

 “It’s an acquired skill, so yeah, but it’s a pain in the fucking arse,” Sirius says, even though he knows this will do nothing to deter James. “You can try to do it again, if you really want, but it’s not easy.”

“Of course I want to,” James dismisses the warning almost instantly. “When can we start? Do you remember how to do it?”

“Not in great detail, but it’s a good thing I’ve saved all my old textbooks. Come on, the method will be in there somewhere.”

James follows him toward the big pile of books Sirius has given him, and together they plop down onto the carpet beside it.

“It’ll be in one of the Transfiguration books, so start here,” Sirius tells him, pushing a few books into James’ arms. “It’s meant to be very dangerous, but we pulled it off in Hogwarts without anyone knowing, so I wouldn’t worry too much as long as we follow the instructions carefully enough. A lot of it relies on chance too, I think, the weather’s got to be perfect, and there was definitely something about collecting dew that hasn’t been touched for seven days.”

“How long does the whole thing take?”

“It took _us_ ages, but only because the weather was never right for it and we kept having to start over. It’s only meant to take like a month or so, I’m pretty sure, if you do everything perfectly the first time.”

They pore through the books for several tedious hours, as night falls soundlessly over the sky outside. Sirius tries not to keep glancing up at James while he’s reading, the way he did when he was _fifteen_ , when they’d stayed up late in the common room trying to cram for their O.W.L.s, but it’s difficult – James is every bit as magnetic now as he was back then, with his forehead slightly creased in concentration and his glasses on a slow, extremely distracting decline down the edge of his nose.

Sirius is starting to wonder how much more of this he can take. It’s getting ridiculous, he thinks, the way his eyes are constantly being drawn, like an overeager moth with a flame, to the slight jump of pulse on James’ neck, the rustle of his lashes when he blinks, even the throb of his Adam’s apple each time he swallows. James is so unbelievably attractive that it shouldn’t make any sense at all, so fucking good-looking that it’s almost infuriating. It makes desire, stupid and _desperate_ , lick like a starving dog at Sirius' stomach. The want fills his entire body like a cauldron, overflowing and volatile.

Sirius tries to keep a level head but the letters on the page in front of him are going blurry, and all he wants is to throw his body like a knife onto James.

It’s almost a relief when James finally shouts, “ _Aha!_ ” waving his book around, and Sirius blinks out of his daze.

He puts on what he hopes is a face of vague interest as James launches into a long, detailed narration of the method for becoming an Animagus, reading aloud from the book, and Sirius uses the opportunity to collect his hungry thoughts back together and bundle them furiously away into the side of his brain.

“We can go buy the ingredients tomorrow!” James is shouting, having worked himself into a standing-up position in his excitement and bouncing from one foot onto another. “First thing in the morning!”

“You weren’t even as wired up about this last time, you know,” Sirius grumbles, rubbing his shoulder when James accidentally kicks the pile of fat books and sends them tumbling down noisily onto Sirius.

James ignores him and focuses his attention on bookmarking the important chapter, setting the book lovingly onto the dining table. It’s only when he sees the leftover dishes sitting there that Sirius realizes they haven’t eaten since breakfast.

 _Bloody typical_ , Remus would’ve said, and the thought makes Sirius smirk,  _you’re so caught up in each other that you forget to fucking eat._

“D’you want to go and get something for dinner?” he asks suddenly, then, annoyed by his own eagerness, adds, “I can’t cook for shit.”

“Yeah, ‘course,” James replies. “Merlin, now that you mention it, I’m fucking _starving_.”

“I’m doing a very poor job of looking after you, clearly,” Sirius snorts, reaching for his cloak and pulling it on briskly. “Remus would be appalled.”

“Well, Remus doesn’t need to know _everything_ ,” James’ eyes are twinkling. “So where are we going on our dinner date tonight, handsome?”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “I’d eat anything, really, at this point.”

“Okay, but wherever it is, can we walk there? I’m not too fond of Apparating yet.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Sirius shrugs, pushing open the door, and steps outside into the misty night air with his best friend.

\--

He’s not sure how, but after dinner they somehow end up in the Leaky Cauldron, challenging each other to down Gamp’s Old Gregarious beer, famous both for its revolting taste and the fact that no one has ever managed to finish an entire pint of it in three hundred years, despite the hundred-Galleon reward.

He’s very clearly drunk if he’s conceding to this, Sirius decides, grimacing at the extraordinary pungency wafting out of the pint glass in front of him.

“It’ll have you sick to your stomach for _days_ , you know,” the old witch at the bar had murmured when she saw what they’d ordered, and rather than serve as a warning it seems to have spurred James on even more.

Now they sit, with the ugly brown liquid sloshing in glasses between them.

“On the count of three?” James says.

“This is a terrible idea.”

“I know,” he grins, glasses slightly askew. “One… two… _three_!”

Sirius grabs the glass in front of him and starts chugging but it only takes a few swallows to make his eyes water, tongue smarting sharply from the hideous taste. James is struggling too, choking and spluttering, and within a minute both of them give up.

“I surrender!” James shouts, pushing the beer away from him.

Sirius is too busy coughing violently to reply.

They decide to switch to beetle berry whiskey after that, which is sweet and strong enough to wash out the taste of Gamp’s beer. They sit in the same pub, drinking and talking, while the hours burn away with neither of them realizing it.

“Do you think I’ve forgotten more than I’ll ever remember, Padfoot?” James asks, leaning forward on the table with his head in his hands. His eyes are going glassy and a little bit bloodshot with tiredness.

It’s the first time James has called him that nickname since the hospital. Sirius takes a moment to slowly let this register, then says, “Well, not all of it needs remembering.”

“Are there things that _you’d_ forget if you could?”

Sirius exhales. James’ outlines seem to be softening, becoming less distinct, like Sirius is looking at him underwater. There are spots of light dancing in his eyes, and they don’t move even when he tries to blink them away. “Of course there are,” he says, and it comes out less ashamed than he thinks it should. “Everyone’s got shit they wish never happened.”

“Like that fight we had,” James looks up, and it’s not a question. “When we stopped talking.”

“Mm.”

“Did you never try to come and make it right again?”

Even while embarrassingly drunk Sirius has to fight the urge to roll his eyes and throw his hands up in the air. This is _classic_ James, always assuming that it’s everybody else’s responsibility to make amends with him, always being the one who’s fucking right all the time. “No, James,” he says, slightly irritated by this. “You wouldn’t have wanted me to, anyway.”

James sighs. He looks like he’s trying to decide on whether or not he should say what he wants to say.

“ _No_ ,” Sirius tells him, reading his expression. “We’re not going to talk about it.”

James scowls at him and pushes his empty glass away forcefully. “You always say that.”

“I have good reason to.”

“Don’t patronize me, it’s fucking frustrating when you refuse to tell me anything,” James stabs a finger into the wooden table. “I feel like there’s this massive, vitally important piece of information that nobody wants to fill me in on and it only ever comes up in stupid bits and pieces that don’t make _any_ sense.”

“I know, but –“

“We were best friends? The very best of friends, and we stopped talking? And now we’re okay again? Just like that, just because I’ve woken up and not been able to remember whatever happened? It doesn’t add up, Sirius, and you know it.”

Sirius can feel the beginnings of an argument brewing, fire-breathed and tense, but realizes he’s far too drunk and exhausted to be able to put up a fight. “Leave it,” he says tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not in the mood.”

James gives him a sour look, but thankfully decides not to push it. He resolutely chooses to change topics after that, and the tension sitting between them diffuses bit by bit as Sirius folds the memories away, pushes them into a corner and looks the other way.

They stay till the pub closes, and James is able to take a grand total of two clumsy, stumbling steps before he’s falling forward with a loud crash that seems echoed across the dark, quiet street. The moon in the sky is nearly full, bright and ghostly. Sirius prods at him with a wand, but it quickly becomes apparent that James is neither conscious nor in any position to be walking home.

“You’re absolutely useless, you know,” he snorts, bending down and lightly pushing James’ hair off his forehead with the wand. “Eighteen months and you still haven’t learned to hold your drink.”

Sirius heaves him up from under both arms, and then, staggering slightly under the weight, throws a quick glance around before Apparating back to his apartment.

It’s not until he’s dragged James into the room and is about to lay him down that he actually becomes aware of what he’s doing. The realization that he's holding _James_ causes him to drop the latter abruptly, who lands on the bed with a grunt and promptly rolls over onto his stomach. Sirius looks at him, properly _looks_ , and feels like hitting himself in the face for thinking that somehow, even in this state of disgrace, he finds James endearing.

He sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the sleeping body. “Stop asking me what happened, you bugger,” he tells James, though he’s not sure why. “I’m trying to start over with you, like Remus said I should.”

Well - what does starting over even _mean?_ Does it mean no longer feeling any of the wounds James had inflicted on him? Does it mean pretending that none of that ever happened, because as far as James is concerned now, none of it ever has? Does it mean trying again, from scratch, to become what they used to be to each other – or moving on, accepting that being friends should be enough, that just having James around should be enough, no matter how much he wants more? Does Sirius deserve to consider himself through any of this, or should he be putting James first again, the way he’s always done, even if it’s terrifying?

“Where the fuck _were_ you?” he says, the words so quiet that they’re just a rush of air leaving his mouth. Something pricks at the back of his eyes. “Why did you have to wait until you’d forgotten everything before coming back to me?”

This is what he’d wanted, to have James reappear in his life again like something out of a dream. And yet – even if, somehow, miraculously, James falls in love with him again, won’t he deserve to know what had happened between them? Won’t Sirius be able to still feel the guilt of the past, running like bruises under James’ skin, every time they touch?

How the fuck does James keep crawling into his veins like this? Sirius doesn’t even feel safe under his own fucking armour anymore. Is it even still love, if all it does is drive you mad?

James makes a _hmmph_ noise and pulls the pillow closer towards himself.

Sirius sighs, getting up off the bed. It’s difficult to have to draw himself away but the waves of tiredness are spilling into his bloodstream and he presently can’t think of anything worse than James waking up in the morning and finding Sirius asleep at the foot of his bed. He moves toward the door and steps outside, but pauses for the briefest moment to look one last time at the snoring boy.

“You are a fucking riddle, James Potter, I’ll tell you that,” he says, shaking his head, and shuts the door.

\--


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The silence that sits between them is clumsy and awkward. There’s something different in the way that James is looking at him, and Sirius knows that he sees it, that he’s already making the connection._

Two weeks of living together become a month, a month becomes several, and by the time December uncloaks itself to reveal a pale and frosty winter, it becomes clear that James is not going anywhere.

The apartment starts looking more and more like a place that’s inhabited by two people instead of just one. James’ possessions, which had begun with several clothes and have now built up into a sizable collection of personal items, books, bottles of liquor, and even a new broomstick, are peppered all over the place with no sense of organization whatsoever, sometimes in shared piles with Sirius’ things and sometimes in whichever empty space he manages to find. They spend nearly every minute with each other, practicing spells or drinking, and when things start becoming too quiet they find themselves getting into harmless fights that fizzle out within a few hours.

Most of the novelty of just seeing James after so long fades eventually, and Sirius is happy for this – as the weeks pass by, they quickly shed their stranger skins and begin to resemble their old, perfectly complemented pair.

All in all, Sirius thinks it’s going really well.

It’s there, of course, somewhere beneath all the brilliance of being with his best friend again; a quiet need, tugging hungrily, wanting more and more and more. Sirius does what he can to dismiss it – he excuses himself whenever he thinks that the longing gets too much, he grabs each and every one of his fantasies by the throat and stuffs them away firmly, and he doesn’t even let himself _wank_ to the thought of James when he’s alone at night.

His theory is that if he ignores it long enough, it’s bound to disappear, but he’s quickly learning that the frenzied desire is prone to rearing its head whenever he so much as _looks_ at James; so powerful, sometimes, that it leaves him choked-up and paralysed, floundering like an idiot or letting entire sentences go over his head when James is speaking. It’s humiliating, to say the least, and Sirius is certain that James will catch on before long if he doesn’t keep his dumb feelings in check.

Remus’ advice of _don’t spend every single minute of the day with him, then, some space will be healthy for you anyway_ is obviously useless, because James will notice at once if Sirius starts trying to put some distance between them. He’s not _stupid_ , for fuck’s sake, so Sirius decides eventually that the best thing to do is to leave the matter unresolved for as long as he can.

They’re at Remus’ Christmas party when it happens, an hour before midnight.

The sky outside is chilly and moonless, but Remus’ living room is roaring with warmth. Almost everyone they know must be here, Sirius thinks, he’s never seen quite so many people in Remus’ home before. It must be the war – people are anxious, growing fearful that this Christmas might be their last, desperate to enjoy it one final time. Despite the slight sense of panic hanging around in the air, Remus is an excellent host and manages to keep everyone’s spirits reasonably lifted. There’s music, and laughter, and after several drinks, plenty of dancing.

James is busy acquainting himself with old friends, all of whom have heard of what happened and are happy to regale him with tales and fond memories.

“We used to have Potions together! You once added an extra strip of Wiggentree bark in my cauldron so that the whole thing exploded everywhere – I mean, it was a bloody mess, but it was actually really funny afterwards.”

“I was your old Quidditch captain, do you still play, by any chance? The boys and I meet up on weekends to fly sometimes, you know, whenever we have the time...”

“You’d never say no to having your picture taken back then, I’ve still got some old photographs from Hogwarts. Come over someday and take a look, if you’d like.”

Sirius keeps a safe distance from everyone else, mostly, deciding to hover around the peripheries of the room. He’s not imagining the heat of people’s glances sliding over him, the way they linger for just a moment longer than necessary – it’s obvious that no one has expected him to grace Remus’ Christmas party, let alone to be walking in beside _James Potter._ The last time most of these people had seen them together, well… Sirius can only hope that they had been too drunk to remember the absolute fucking spectacle he’d made of himself on the night of James’ engagement.

 _This is what you deserve,_ he keeps telling himself, _don’t you dare complain._

It’s not even that he cares about these people or their sodding opinions, really. He just doesn’t want James to notice the awkward smiles they’re giving him, so he sticks a secure distance away.

“Are you at least _trying_ to have a good time?” Remus murmurs to him at some point, stirring at the punch in a big glass bowl absently. “You’ve been very quiet tonight.”

Sirius shrugs and sips from his glass. “I know what they’re all saying about me, Remus. _Sirius Black? Didn’t he ruin James’ engagement party? What’s_ he _doing here?_ ” he doesn’t mean for it to come out sounding so dark and bitter, but he only realizes this once he’s already spoken.

“Oh, stop it, Pads,” Remus sighs. “No one is even talking about that.”

But there’s a slight edge to his voice when he says it, and Sirius looks the other way.

“ _Sirius_ ,” Remus looks at him pointedly, “it wasn’t that bad, you know, everyone knew you were drunk, anyway, and – well, you were upset, weren’t you? About the engagement?”

“ _Upset_ ,” Sirius says softly, shutting his eyes for a moment, “would’ve been an understatement.”

The truth is, he’d been fucking devastated. James had sniffed trouble the moment Sirius stumbled into the party, already drunk out of his wits, and insisted on pulling Sirius into a corner to tell him to get his shit together. And Sirius, stupid and inebriated and fucking _hopeful_ as he’d had the nerve to be, misread the way that James grabbed onto his blazer, like some type of hungry, raving wolf – and when James had violently shoved him off, in front of everyone – Sirius had taken it upon himself to create the biggest havoc possible, shouting and cursing and swearing viciously at James. All the foul black fury that had been festering dirtily inside him since he’d heard the news, all unleashing at once like a hurricane, pouring out in torrents of murderous madness that left Lily white-faced and sobbing – and James; Sirius can still remember James, looking at him with an expression that Sirius had never seen on his face before, scathing enough that it stung physically on Sirius’ skin, so much so that James was almost unrecognizable in his rage…

This, of course, is the incident everyone assumes had flung James over the edge, pushing him to cut Sirius out completely.

The _real_ incident responsible for that, Sirius knows, was much darker, and much uglier.

“Well, you can’t just hide for the rest of your life because of something you did almost two years ago, Padfoot,” Remus is saying quietly.

Sirius bites back on the guilty, tart secrets swimming inside his mouth. Secrets that only three people had ever known: a dead girl, a man with no memory, and another man, brimming with regret.

Remus gives Sirius a gentle push, in the direction of a group of people standing near the fireplace. “Go on, at least go stand with James if you’re nervous, don’t just skulk around the corners.”

“I’m not nervous,” Sirius snaps, and feels compelled to roll his eyes, “and don’t _push_ me, I’ll take your fucking eye out.”

He listens to what Remus tells him anyway, though. James welcomes him heartily into the group, throwing around introductions like Sirius doesn’t already know every one of the people standing in the circle. There’s a twinkle in James’ eyes when he says, “this is Sirius, he’s my best friend,” that makes Sirius feel like he should stand a bit taller and prouder.

Three, four drinks later, the party is melting into merriness, and even Sirius is in a better mood by the time Remus clinks his glass to get everyone’s attention.

“A toast,” he proclaims, smiling around at everyone gathered in the room. “To us. The warriors, the fighters, the resistance! Every one of us here tonight is brave, and good, and kind – these qualities, they’re simple, but more important than ever right now.”

Murmurs of agreement run across the room.

“It hasn’t been easy, we all know that. Many of us have lost more battles than we can count, more loved ones than we can keep track of. But every morning we wake up and we _fight_ again, we fight back, even when we’re outnumbered, even when the odds are piled high up against us. And I don’t have a doubt in my mind, that strength like this – it’s more valuable and precious than whatever _He’s_ got. Strength like this, it’ll carry us through, I’m sure of it, to a victory so bright and goddamn beautiful that it lights up the whole entire world. That – that is the power of being _good_ , the power that we all have within us here.”

A round of applause follows, interspersed with jubilant cheers and whistles.

“So, I just want to say: a very merry Christmas to all of you. You are the reason for hope, for courage and triumph. Let’s celebrate tonight, knowing that we have that much, at least, to be cheerful for! Also, a special thanks to McKinnon today, she’s baked us this lovely Christmas cake – come on, bring it out for everyone to see!” Remus waves happily at a slender girl with long auburn hair, who immediately goes scarlet when the attention is directed towards her.

She scuttles off into the kitchen, then re-emerges a moment later, cradling in her arms a gigantic layered cake, laced with dollops of cream and fresh cherries all the way to the top, finished off with a dancing, sparkling Christmas star at the very peak, made of gold icing sugar.

“She absolutely loved cream cakes,” James murmurs.

“Hm?” Sirius asks distractedly, watching the happy golden star doing its jig in time to the music. “Who?”

“Lily,” James says, and the words fall out casually from his mouth as though they are nothing, “cream cakes were her favourite.”

The glass that Sirius is holding slips from his hand, and smashes suddenly onto the ground.

The shards fly everywhere, sliding outwards from the noisy point of impact. Everyone in the room turns at the sound, and in the dragged-out, piercing silence that follows, Sirius is certain he can hear the acceleration of his own heart.

 “ _What_ – “ he croaks, even though the effort of speaking alone is overwhelming, “ – _did you just say?”_

Redness is blossoming all over James’ face, and he claps a hand over his mouth, eyes growing wide. A thin sheen of sweat has appeared on his forehead, catching little bits of light from the ceiling.

“ _Lily_?” the name scrabbles out as a rasp, and Sirius can barely get it past the swelling in his throat. “James, nobody has spoken a _word_ about Lily to you, how did you – ”

But James doesn’t look like he’s even listening. His eyes are clouding over with panic, and he gags and retches into his hand. Sirius becomes aware that James’ body is swaying slowly, like a burning building about to topple, moving one way then the other in a terrible pendulum arc.

The room is still silent, and Sirius just stares.

“He’s not well!” Remus shouts suddenly. He’s already pushing through the crowd, toward James, and manages  to catch him a split second before he collapses. James’ legs give way under him and his eyes roll all the way to the back of his head, until only the whites of them, horrific and empty, are visible.

Someone in the room lets out an ear-splitting scream, and this sets off a sudden commotion in everybody else.

“No, no – it’s nothing, everyone, just – _SIRIUS_ , take him to my room, _now_ ,” Remus is yelling. “Everyone – it’s _fine_ , no need to worry, James is obviously a bit unwell, we’ll take care of him!”

Sirius feels Remus pushing James’ body onto him, horrified by the limp weight. _No, no, no,_ is all his stupid brain can think, even though he has no idea what’s going on. He hauls James up, and somehow amidst all the nervous confusion in the room, he manages to half-carry, half-drag him into the corridor, over the carpet, and finally into Remus’ bedroom.

Only when he flops James onto the mattress does he allow himself to panic. James is so pale he looks like he’s dead, and for the shortest moment Sirius’ heart is choking up frantically inside his throat. He presses his hands desperately around James’ neck, holding his breath.

The wave of relief that washes into him when his fingers find that faint throb of a pulse, fluttering lightly under the skin, is so powerful that he feels his knees wilt beneath him, and has to sink onto the ground next to the bed.

“Thank fuck,” he whispers, and doesn’t realize that his eyes are wet until he’s furiously scrubbing at them.

He’s so stunned by what’s just happened that his entire mind feels numb, any and all rational thought blotted out like his brain has been plunged into a massive tub of invisible ink. He doesn’t know what to think, what to make of this – how could James possibly have known about Lily’s favourite cake, and what the fuck had happened to him after he’d said it?

Remus reappears at the door once he’s gotten everyone else to relax, and his face is sallow and anxious. “Is he –“

“He’s unconscious, but he’s breathing.”

“Oh, thank _God_ for that,” Remus exhales, rubbing his hands over his face. “Was it Dark Magic? Do you think someone put a curse on him?”

That doesn’t fit. Sirius shakes his head. “How could they have? I’ve been with him every single day, and we’ve never had any trouble with the wrong types.”

Remus stares at James lying on the bed. He looks broken. “Should we take him to St Mungo’s?”

“He looks like he’s just passed out,” Sirius’ fingers are curling around James’ wrist, just to feel that beautiful, comforting pulse there, serving again and again and again as the sweetest type of reassurance that James is still alive. He uses his free hand to lightly press James’ eyelids closed. “I’m going to stay here with him until he wakes up. Go check on the others.”

Remus’ eyes move from their linked hands to Sirius’ face. “Okay,” he says slowly, his face still stricken, “but – let me know if you need anything, and when he wakes up.”

When Remus leaves the room, Sirius shuffles closer to the bed on his knees. James’ face is milky, his hair matted slightly with sweat, and his skin feels like paper. The new hollowness in his face sets segments of light bouncing off his cheeks, sharper than sword-blades, silver like knives. James looks like a dimmed, candlelit version of himself.

Sirius drops his chin gently onto the space of mattress next to James’ face. He’s so close now that he can feel the gentle chill of breath leaving his mouth, and it suddenly brings a thousand more points of James’ face into focus – finer details he’d once known like the back of his hand, but that had faded; with time, with anger, with distance.

James’ dark eyelashes are heavy and fan outwards, creating a feathery shadow just above the glide of his cheekbone. The eyelids, thin enough that a small cartography of little red capillaries is visible right beneath them, running upwards like a spider-web. He finds himself trying to individually admire every tiny pore in James’ skin, like the miniscule brush strokes of a priceless painting.

Sirius finds him so beautiful that it makes him suck a sharp, stuttering breath in through his mouth.

The noise causes James to stir, and before Sirius has any time to respond, James’ eyelids flit open, and Sirius is staring directly into the raw, bronze eyes of the boy he’s in love with.

A surprised sound, like an alarmed animal, escapes from the back of his throat. Every single vein in his body swells with the unexpected shock, and he can’t move a muscle. James’ face is so close to him right now – so fucking close – and it feels like this one moment has been frozen in time; except that it’s really not, not at all, and the seconds are continually passing by, and neither him nor James have moved an inch.

A shift in the shadows. Another moment slips by. Inside James’ eyes, something slots neatly into place – _understanding_ , clear as day – and suddenly, all at once, the spell is shattered.

 _Fuck_.

Sirius recoils immediately like he’s been bitten. He knows that now is the time to say something; he should ask if James is okay, he should ask what happened, he should do anything other than sit here like a petrified idiot that’s been struck by lightning just because he spent a few moments trapped in his best friend’s gaze. But nothing comes out, because it’s too late.

In those few moments, he knows, he’d been naked – and James had seen everything on his face: the want, the need, the flickers of a flame that burns beyond friendship and yearns, desperately, for so much more.

“James,” the name spills out before he can help it, sounding scratched and bloody, and he doesn’t even know what exactly it is that he’s trying to say. “It’s not what –“ the rest of the sentence abruptly stumbles and falls back down his throat, and he can’t bring himself to say any of it out loud.

_It’s not what you think, it’s not what it looks like, it’s not, it’s not, it’s not._

“How – how are you feeling?” is what he pathetically settles for instead, despite the fact that it comes out sounding artificial and like it’s not at all what he wants to actually fucking say.

James’ confused expression betrays him for only the briefest second before he pulls it together. “Um, I’m fine, but I don’t really have any idea what’s just happened to me.”

“You said – well, you said something about Lily, earlier, and it was odd, because we haven’t told you _anything_ about her. You've told us that you didn’t want us to mention her to you, and we haven’t, so how –“

“I know,” James breathes out slowly, lower lip jutting out. “But I just – I remember looking at the cake, when that girl brought it out, and I don’t know, the thought just popped into my head, you know? Out of nowhere. And it felt like, like it was something I just _knew_ , not something I was making up.”

“Popped into your head?” Sirius repeats, certain that some of the colour has splashed off of his face. “What else popped into your head?”

“Nothing,” James shakes his head, his eyes mournful. “It made me feel ill, and everything else happened so fast. One moment I was there, about to be sick, and the next I was waking up here.”

Sirius ignores the way his voice rises a decibel at the end of that sentence. He’s trying to stay collected, but his entire body feels like a flock of birds nervously about to take flight. Every bone in it feels fragile, feels like it’s laying in between James’ teeth and waiting for him to bite down and pulverize it.

“Padfoot, what’s wrong with me?” James’ voice is low and anxious. “That was fucking awful.”

“I don’t think anything’s _wrong_ with you,” Sirius says, forehead creasing.

“So what was all that about?”

Sirius considers it for a moment, and then offers the only explanation he can come up with.

“I think – if it happened right after something about Lily came into your head, it must have something to do with when you were attacked. Those Death Eaters cast some really powerful spells on you – the kind that can take a toll. Maybe your body was just trying to reset itself from it.” 

“Do you think so?” James’ lip is swelling from being bitten for so long, and Sirius can’t stop staring at it. “That’s all it really is?”

“Well, you said you’re feeling fine, so maybe we shouldn’t worry unless it happens again? You were only out for a couple of minutes.”

“Yeah,” James sighs, looking slightly more consoled at that. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

The silence that sits between them is clumsy and awkward. There’s something different in the way that James is looking at him, and Sirius knows that he _sees_ it, that he’s already making the connection. This day was bound to come, wasn’t it? Sirius hadn’t been able to conceal his stupid feelings well enough – traces of it had been blooming like clues since the very first moment they saw each other again. The way Sirius’ eyes latch onto James and then abruptly pull away, the way Sirius swiftly excuses himself on the nights that James gets too drunk and starts becoming touchy, the furious refusal to allow even a shadow of vulnerability to be seen in him.

James opens his mouth. “Sirius –“

“ _Don’t_ ,” is the only word that Sirius can choke out. His entire chest feels like it’s caved in on itself, all the ribs cutting into his sides.

James looks like he’s at a loss. His eyes are fixed on Sirius’ face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

_Pop._

Before he’s realized what he’s doing, Sirius is stumbling forwards, alone, inside the darkness of his own apartment – miles away from James, as if it had been a reflex. His breathing is thick and painful, and he fumbles around for a minute with the lights before collapsing onto the bed.

He knows it was a coward’s move, especially since James’ doesn’t yet have the magical ability to come Apparating after him. What the fuck else was he supposed to do, though? The way James had looked at him, Sirius felt like he’d been standing there with all his bones exposed, protected by neither clothes nor skin.  

It had been fucking terrifying.

He doesn’t know what James is thinking, doesn’t even think he wants to know. It feels incredibly stupid, now that James knows, to ever have wished that he’d been able to tell him how he feels – it’s dangerous and idiotic, a rabbit hole that could go wrong in a thousand different, devastating ways. Sirius may as well strip naked, get down obediently onto his knees, and fucking _beg_ for James; he’ll achieve the exact same outcome of James’ disgusted pity.

 _“_ You are such a _fucking_ idiot, you’ve fucked everything up, _”_ he snarls at himself, suddenly furious.

In his head, he hears a different voice – James, shouting at him from two years ago, the words thundering out and violent with rage, hailing onto Sirius like knives, _YOU fucking ruined this, Sirius, don’t you fucking look at me like that, you fucked EVERYTHING up –_

Sirius punches his fist so hard into the wall next to the bed that he hears the bones in his fingers cracking sharply, but he can barely even feel the pain flaring out from it.

\--


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Is it really that bizarre to hope that James might feel the same for him? Hadn’t he done it once before, at Hogwarts; so naturally, so easily, so willingly? There had been no distinguishable trigger for it – them falling in love had always been an inevitable consequence to being best friends. How can Sirius let himself feel stupid for thinking that it might happen again?_

He awakens, the next day, to the sound of loud, relentless thumps on the door.

Behind the curtains, early grey light is seeping into the bedroom, and in the stillness of morning the pounding from the door seems to be echoing tenfold, cramming itself painfully into his brain. The noise gets louder and faster as he heaves himself up and groggily trudges into the living room, irritated both at having being woken up so prematurely and the fact that he’s hungover despite not having been that drunk last night.

He’s still dressed, and his hand is now emanating a dull ache from being crushed into the wall. “Fucking _wait_ , I’m coming,” he snaps at whoever is currently slamming their fists onto the wood, finally reaching the door and turning the key to open it. The sudden wash of bright, blinding light from outside makes him squint for a moment, and then –

“You _fucking_ –“

Not even a moment later, James has barged into the apartment, nostrils flaring, wand pointed straight at Sirius’ chest.

“What –“

“You left me at Remus’ last night, you fucking _prick_ ,” James shouts, fuming. “Just fucking Apparate yourself back home, why don’t you, and leave me to _fucking_ walk!”

Despite the blaze of anger on James’ face, something about the fact that he’s had to walk all the way back from Remus’, like a Muggle, and that he’s pointing a wand at Sirius’ chest when he’s about as threatening as a child, is irresistibly funny.

“What are you _laughing_ at, you dickhead?”

“Nothing,” Sirius says, but he can’t help himself. “No – ow, _ow_ , okay, I’m _sorry_ ,” he stops when James jabs him repeatedly in the stomach with his wand. “You’re right – that was selfish of me. I panicked.”

“Clearly,” James is still glaring at him. “You can’t just decide to pop yourself back home and not take me with you. I live here too, you know.”

“Technically, you’re just a houseguest massively overstaying your welcome.”

James pokes his wand hard into Sirius again, this time painfully in between two of his ribs.

“Ow – fuck _off_ , James, stop that,” Sirius snaps, trying to fend James off and rub at his stinging sides at the same time. “You’re a fucking menace, you know that?”

“Hey – what happened to your hand?” James frowns suddenly, lowering his wand.

Sirius immediately stuffs the injured fist out of sight, in the pocket of his robes. “Nothing.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Sirius,” James huffs, irritated again. “Show it to me.”

“No.”

He’s caught off guard when James’ body slams into him, knocking him to the ground with force.

“What the _fuck_ –“

Realizing what’s happening a second too late, he furiously starts kicking, trying to wrestle James off of him. They scramble rabidly for a few minutes, and the only thing he’s aware of are limbs being thrown about and occasionally catching him in the face, until finally James manages to pin him down, arms held out to the sides.

“I’m not in the mood to ask nicely,” James grunts, struggling a bit with the effort of holding Sirius in place. He cranes his neck, trying to get a good view of Sirius’ hand from the awkward position that they’re locked in, then lets out a quiet sound of exclamation. “What did you _do_ , you maniac, all your fucking fingers are broken.”

Involuntarily, Sirius stops trying to shove James off and turns to look at his own hand. He’d taken some sleep potion to knock himself out immediately after punching the wall last night, and hadn’t remembered to check how bad it was until now. The sight makes him groan. His entire hand is swelling, deep yellow and violet bruises smeared over the skin in uneven, sickening patches. All his fingers are bending off at uneven angles from the top knuckles, which had apparently absorbed most of the impact. Looking at it now, he’s vaguely impressed that he’s even managed to ignore it for so long.

“I – punched a wall,” he admits, by means of explanation, seeing that James is still staring at him.

“What, _that_ hard?” James’ mouth drops open in disbelief when Sirius nods. “ _Why?_ ”

Sirius squirms a bit, highly aware that he’s still lying under James. “Get off me, wanker. And I was drunk.”

James doesn’t move. “Was it because of last night?”

“James, I’m serious, get _off_ me,” Sirius’ voice rises, and a fresh wave of humiliation at the scalding memory of last night gives him just enough strength to jam his knee up against James’ stomach.

James yelps in pain and rolls off onto the ground while Sirius pulls himself into a sitting-up position. He spends a minute or so fumbling with his wand, doing whatever he can to fix the damage he’s done to his hand – he’s not _great_ at healing spells, but by the time it’s finished his mangled fingers resemble a normal, albeit slightly sore, hand again. Then he turns to face James.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says firmly.

“Oh, what a surprise. You never want to talk about fucking _anything_!” James shouts, and the sudden, unfettered accusation in his voice feels like a blow to the gut. “I know what I saw, Sirius, I’m not going to pretend that I didn’t see it, just because it makes _you_ uncomfortable to be an actual human being, with feelings, for once in your life!”

His tone is so sharp and fiery that it knocks all the words out of Sirius’ mouth.

“I don’t know what your problem with all this is,” James is continuing , evidently on a rant that he’s been having to subdue for a while now. “I don’t know why you have to act like I’m going to fucking – punish you, or something, for telling me the truth. Did you think I’d stop talking to you? Did you think it would scare me off or change my mind about you? Do you even _know_ me, Sirius? And what kind of best friend are you, anyway, if you’re always fucking hiding things? Who else am I supposed to be able to trust, if not you?”

Sirius feels like his body has turned into broken glass. Everything is aching, tender and wounded.  He can’t bring himself to speak. He doesn’t know what to do, hadn’t at all been ready to be sitting here with James and having his own ugly, screeching pain pointed back out to him.

James is looking at him – and there’s genuine _hurt_ in his eyes, like he’s upset at Sirius for not valuing their friendship as much as he does. And that fucking stings, it does, because he doesn’t even know that Sirius values it so much he would genuinely _kill_ to keep James in his life.

“Why didn’t you just tell me, Pads?”

 _I’m terrified of losing you again._ “I didn’t – I wasn’t sure how you’d take it.”

“What did you think I was going to _do_?”

 _Leave me for dead, like you did last time._ “I don’t know.”

“If you’d just told me this ages ago, I would’ve –“ James breathes out, shaking his head and pinching at the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know, maybe – maybe it would be different with us.”

Sirius narrows his eyes at him. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about us being more like how you want us to be.”

The look on James’ face is earnest and open, but Sirius becomes aware of the anger starting to froth inside of him. It feels like he’s suddenly shrunken to a tiny fraction of his actual size, and is being crushed in the palm of James’ hand, suffocating with the attempt to escape. Like that’s all he’s been reduced to, a pathetic plaything that James knows he can do with as he pleases.

 “How _I_ want us to be?” he snarls. “And I suppose you know all about what I want, now, do you?”

“What? No, that’s not what I said –“

“Let’s get one thing absolutely clear, James,” Sirius hisses, spitting every word out. “I don’t care what you saw or what you think that I want – don’t you dare try and rub my face in it, I’m not your _fucking_ toy.”

“I didn’t say that you were!” James shouts. “I just said that maybe there’s nothing wrong with being more than friends!”

“ _Excuse_ me?”

“If you stopped being so fucking paranoid for literally one entire goddamn second, you’d see that I’m not whatever monster you’re stupidly making me out to be, and that maybe I _do_ fucking like you back –”

Sirius knows he must look feral, the fury physically jutting out of his body like dislocated bones, his skin so taut that the blood under it has been drained out into whiteness. “Are you trying to be funny?” the words come out quiet and deadly, vibrating like a fuse about to blow.

“ _No_ –“

How dare James joke about something like that? How fucking dare he sit there and make a mockery of the one thing that has spread like rot inside Sirius’ body, turning everything it touches into charred, bleeding decay?

“If you _ever_ –“ Sirius’ voice is hostile, venomous, “ – _ever_ , James, and I fucking mean it – try and _taunt_ me about this again, I will rip you to fucking pieces, do you understand me?”

James glares at Sirius, eyes so alight with anger that Sirius can barely stand to look at him. “Fine,” he snaps finally, getting up onto his feet. “Fine, be that way, then. Keep on choosing to assume the most far-fetched, unreasonable _bullshit_ just because you’re paranoid, and ignore what’s right under your fucking nose.”

Sirius blinks, fazed by James’ incensed reaction. He doesn’t know how he’d been expecting James to respond to his threat, but he certainly hadn’t expected  _that_.

“Oh, is it actually my turn to talk now?” James is saying, eyes still blazing. “Can I finally say something without it getting brutalized inside that _mess_ you call your head? Whatever it is that you think, Sirius, I don’t have a single problem with us getting together, but _you_ clearly do. I don’t know where you got this impression that I want to actively humiliate you just for having feelings for me, or why the fuck you refuse to believe a word I actually say – but that’s _your_ issue, not mine. Don’t you fucking project your problems on to me.”

His words fly out like shattered glass shards, leaving cuts where they graze past Sirius’ skin.

“Just because I might fancy you a little bit doesn’t mean I have to let you villainize me before I’ve even done anything wrong, and I’m not going to stand here and baby you through whatever personal crisis it is that you’re _obviously_ going through, either.”

Sirius’ mouth doesn’t open, despite what feels like a meniscus of nausea steadily rising up inside him. James’ words are echoing, blurred but heavy and ringing with conviction, tearing to shreds the violent, vulnerable rage that had filled him with so much certainty only moments ago.

James is striding towards his bedroom, leaving Sirius on the ground.

“Hey –“

“You need to grow _up_ , Sirius,” James tells him, and this time the words sound more like disappointment than anything else. “Not everyone in the world is out to destroy you.”

With that, he slams the door shut, the sound reverberating loudly through the apartment.

Sirius doesn’t move from the floor, because he’s sure that if he tries to pick himself up he’ll just fall apart and his bones and organs will go rolling all around the living room. He’s so aghast that he’s feeling lightheaded, dizzy with the effort of trying to make sense of what James has just left him with.

It’s one thing that James knows how Sirius feels, but a whole other that he reciprocates it in the slightest – even now, even while James’ words replay over and over in his head, it sounds ludicrous, enough to make Sirius want to physically maul anyone who’d dare suggest something so stupid. It’s why he’d snarled at James: the frustration and anger that what he wants is nothing but a hopeless, broken dream is nearly too much to take.  

And, yet…

Is it really that bizarre to hope that James might feel the same for him? Hadn’t he done it once before, at Hogwarts; so naturally, so easily, so willingly? There had been no distinguishable trigger for it – them falling in love had always been an inevitable consequence to being best friends. How can Sirius let himself feel stupid for thinking that it might happen again?

But then again – as fucking breathtaking as the concept is – Sirius feels like he’s standing in the middle of a barren land he’d once planted all his hopes with James in. How do they turn back from there? Is it enough to say _I love you, I want you, I need you more than you can understand?_ Is it enough for James to say _I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, let’s go back and try again?_

For the year and a half that they’d been apart Sirius had lived inside his own hurricane. He’d never been able to move on, declining when people tried to take him out to meet someone new – the concept of loving anyone else at all was always so foreign. Everyone he met had been a version of James, sometimes knights and sometimes monsters. Everyone had been either too much like James or not enough of him. Despite the months and months of distance with no contact, Sirius had harboured his own petulant, incessant fantasies – failing to override them with logic, with fact, with even the memory of James’ face, crimson with hatred, on the last night that they’d seen each other.

And now, the one and only thing that he had wanted the entire time that he’d been alone – it’s right here, in his home, offering itself to him.

He gets up suddenly, his legs moving so fast that his eyes don’t even catch the movement, and finds himself standing outside of James’ door and knocking on it urgently. No matter what happens, he thinks, an apology is in order at least.

“ _What_?”

“Are you going to let me in?” he says.

“No.”

Sirius sighs. It’s only expected. “Alright, well – I just wanted to say that I’m sorry, Prongs. For what I said earlier.”

James lets out a derisive snort that can be heard through the door. “What, do you miss me already?”

“Don’t be a dick, I _said_ I’m sorry.”

“You’re such an entitled bastard,” the door opens with a click, and James is standing there behind it, grinning. “I should be allowed to forgive you on my own terms, don’t rush me.”

Sirius raises his eyebrows. “And what are those?”

“Firstly, leave me alone to take a nap, because instead of sleeping like a regular person I had to spend all night on buses and walking back since _you_ abandoned me at Remus’,” James says.

“Right, well, I’m sorry about that too.”

“And secondly, get me that red-gold Quidditch ball set we saw in Diagon Alley last week.”

“The one that costs _three_ hundred Galleons?”

“Yes,” James says sternly. “And then you’ll be pardoned.”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Fine, Your Majesty, but we’ll be living off fucking scraps for a month because of it.”

“Again, sounds like a personal issue,” James shrugs. “Now piss off, I was just about to fall asleep when you knocked.”

Sirius decides to let him, feeling considerably lighter than he had before James opened the door. He goes back into his own room, deciding that he should probably get some sleep as well, before a thought occurs to him; one that he’s never properly entertained before.

Now that James has partially admitted to returning a sliver of his feelings, it can’t possibly be _all_ that dangerous to wank to the thought of him, can it? Sirius feels like it’s something that his body has begged for months, a delicious luxury that he vehemently refused to allow himself, in the fear that it might cause his feelings to hurtle out of control and ruin everything.

But right now – right now the words _Just because I might fancy you a little bit_ are holding him hostage, holding him tied down with rope. Why should he keep denying himself this, even if it’s all he’ll ever have? The thought drives him to build all kinds of castles in the air, castles filled with a mirage of both sharp memories and hazy fantasies of James – his skin, his mouth, his cock.

Sirius is achingly hard within moments, and before he can find the resolve to protest, his hand is already under his robes, pumping desperately.   

\--


End file.
